


And I will Love You on Purpose

by Skeletons_to_Ashes



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mute Gran, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-What Makes the Sky Blue III: 000 (Granblue Fantasy), This sounds angsty and it is for a hot minute but then I decided no let there be fluff, sanluci
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26806924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skeletons_to_Ashes/pseuds/Skeletons_to_Ashes
Summary: The crew finally discovers a way to bring Lucifer back. However, not everything goes as planned, and he's left without his memories. Now Sandalphon is left to pick up the pieces of what had been as they rediscover their feelings for one another and learn how to navigate their new lives together.This is a collection of scenes/moments that follows the same basic premise rather than a linear story.
Relationships: Lucifer/Sandalphon (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 48





	1. Honey and Wildfire

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta, we die like Lucifer here: lovingly caressing the feather cocoon that contains our gay lover. 
> 
> I apologize if this is a bit rough! It's been years since I've written a fic/story, and I'm trying to ease myself back into writing again so in all honesty I'm just happy I was able to work up the will to write anything at all. I also already have the second part of this written, it just needs to be edited! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated, of course, but I'm just grateful if you took the time to read this! 
> 
> Follow me on twitter if you want to scream about GBF/gay angels with me: August_ashes

Sandalphon knew something was wrong by early morning when he awoke, having always been a light sleeper, to hushed whispers outside of his door that very distinctly sounded as if they belonged to Lyria and Vyrn. Whispers that slowly rose into what could have been called their version of a heated argument, but he could only somewhat make sense of the words being hurled back and forth in his sleep-kissed stupor. He kicked tangled sheets from slender, shapely legs and sat up amongst a mass of disjointed pillows and scattered, white feathers. A frown tugs at the corners of slick lips, still damp from silent whimpers that had rattled his chest in his sleep, when he realizes he’s gone and done it again. Glare almost awkward and unsightly against the hefty bags nestled beneath his eyes as he stared at the set of six, white wings hunched sloppily over his back and licked at wooden floorboards where they spilled over the side of his bed. He feels something utterly devastating tug at his core at the sight of them. He swallows around the lump that forms in his throat, and can feel a mixture of raw, red skin and bile lodged in the back of his mouth rush down to the pit of his aching stomach as he does.The taste of copper is thick on his tongue. It’s almost enough to make last night’s coffee creep back into his mouth, but he keeps it down with an unceremonious whine. Another nightmare. A disgruntled huff is given in an attempt to hide the tingling of his limbs and suppress the urge he feels to cry. Wayward strands of brown hair hanging in front of his face fly up to join the rest of his unsightly bed head with the motion, and he reaches up to stroke calloused fingertips through soft downy. Almost finding comfort in imagining auburn locks were a rose-tinted white instead and that they belonged to someone other than himself. Miserably, he wills those wings away as he turns his attention to the back of his door and tries to focus on anything but the gangly thoughts that swim about in his head. But he’s hardly in a coherent enough state to make sense of the bits and pieces of their conversation that he can pick up on through the murk. __

“I think we should tell ‘em, Lyria, it’s not fair keeping him in the dark like this!” Vyrn yells before he’s sshh’ed by Lyria’s sing-song voice and the stamp of her bare foot against the ground. The sound of which echoes through the long, but mostly empty halls of the Grandcypher. 

“I know, Vyrn, but Gran said we should keep it a secret until Lucio and Cagliostro know exactly what’s going on.” He can hear Vyrn whine audibly at her words, and he can imagine the expression on her face: radiantly soft smile and quivering eyes beaming in the dim light cast by the lanterns that hang beside each door, as she continues. “I want to tell Sandalphon too, but I know Gran is doing what he thinks is best for both of them. So, we just have to hang in there until they’re ready. Then we can all tell him together.” Her voice is chipper, but doubt grips the edges and he can mentally imagine her little fingers clutching the hem of her pearly, white dress as she valiantly proclaims her newfound resolve to the reluctant dragon. Maybe he would have found it endearing if not for the fact that it didn’t take a genius to figure out who the ‘he’ in question was. 

A groan slips past his lips, and he forces himself out of bed to rescue whatever weird friendship the two had before he, apparently and unintentionally, ruins it like he does everything else. He lifts one of his clammy hands up to rub at his back where he can still feel the phantom touch of those unfitting wings, and the sensation is almost enough to make lurch. Instead, he bites down his lower lip, runs fingers through tangled hair to make it look vaguely acceptable, and stumbles his way over to the door. Heels stepping over the clutter he’d left there last night. A collection of books, and countless objects that even just vaguely reminded the archangel of  _ him. _ With a harsh inhale, he flooded his nostrils with the scent of burning wax and cinderwood, and he forced himself to regain his composure. Yet all it does is make the bloody cracks on his chapped lips sting and his barren, dry throat burn. He opens the door anyway because no amount of inane breathing exercises is going to help at this point. And is promptly greeted by a loud gasp from the blue haired girl, delicate hand shooting up to cover her gaping mouth, and an ear grating scream from the imitation dragon, little fang exposed when his jaw drops, as they cease their squabbling to stare at him, wide-eyed as if they’ve been caught committing the gravest of crimes within the whole of the Skydom. Which, for them, he imagines is little more than stealing some extra treats from the candy jar left out in the kitchen. 

“Tell me  _ what _ together?” He asks and almost chokes on the words. His voice is a raspy, hoarse mess where he manages to summon it from the depths of his creaky lungs, and he winces at the sound. His pitiful state is apparent enough that Lyria shoots him a downright distressful look that does nothing but make him feel all the more despondent, so he averts his gaze from her in order to glare at Vyrn in a rather vain attempt to cling to what little he had left of his pride. 

“O-Oh, good morning, Sandalphon! I hope you slept well.” She reaches out to gather Vyrn into her arms, holding the little pest tight against her chest as he struggles to free himself from her grip. Little squeaks of protest echoing off of the narrow, brown walls as his little paws flailed about uselessly. For a moment, Sandalphon found himself admiring the strength she was capable of mustering up with such frail looking arms. “We were just…” She lowers her head, teeth coming down to nipple nervously at her lower lip before glancing down the hallway as she searches for a reasonable excuse or worthwhile distraction. 

“We were just tryin’ to surprise you with some new coffee beans Gran bought ya’!” Vyrn came to her rescue with renewed passion for whatever it was they were trying to hide from him, but the audible sigh of relief that the girl in blue breaths the second his scratchy voice fills the silence she had left is a dead giveaway that they were up to something else entirely. What, exactly, that was he didn’t know. He didn’t even have time to do more than raise a tired brow at them before they blurted out some lie, which he knew for a fact was a lie because they couldn’t even look him in the eyes, about the singularity needing them for something and scrambled off down the hallway. 

An hour later, he knew something was irreversibly, undeniably wrong when he dragged himself into the cafe to make a cup of coffee and was carefully pouring the boiling hot liquid into delicate, porcelain cups when he heard a set of footsteps rushing past the entrance. Craning his neck, he glanced out the door to see the short, blonde alchemist clattering past. With God only knows what cradled in her arms as a suspiciously serious-looking Lucio trailed after her. He did not want to think about what the implications of that devilish duo could mean so he rolled his eyes, and went back to pouring his coffee until he felt a soft tap against his shoulder. In a panicked flurry he nearly spilled a healthy, heaping dose of piping hot coffee onto his fingers. Startled, he turned around on his heels, but was prevented from burning his knuckles with his beloved coffee by a pair of gentle hands reaching out to clutch his own within them. Exhaling, he wiggles his own hands free from that light grasp to fully turn around and greet the Captain (he would know those fingers anywhere). Sandy brown locks were a mess atop the shorter’s head, but his gaze was full of such compassion and concern that Sandalphon couldn’t bring himself to leer at the disheveled state he was in. 

“I’m fine,” he retorts before Gtan can even ask before he grabs one of the cups he had poured and settles its golden-tipped rim against his lips to avoid maintaining eye contact with them too long. It stings his tongue and burns its way down his throat because he’d just finished making a moment ago. But anything is better than Gran’s uncanny ability to stare into the most unraveled depths of his soul and, frankly, right now, those depths were a tattered, drained, and distraught mess even he barely understood. How the coffee he’d just chugged sets his throat aflame, and the searing pain that pain follows is almost comforting in a way he knows it shouldn’t be. His hand is shaking where he clutches the cup, and it only stops when he feels Gran tug gingerly at the soft feather-skirt tired about his waist.

‘ _ How are you feeling? Lyria and Vyrn said you were up pretty early today.’  _ Early enough, apparently, to make him squint as Gran’s hands move to form words he’s much too tired to read at an effective speed, but the soft, lopsided smile he’s greeted with as the other repeated the signs once again tells him all he needs to know and, simultaneously, manages to make him feel worse when he scowls as the realization of the Captain’s question sinks in. 

“I’m fine. I’m awake because they woke me up.” His response is unbearably curt and an awful lie. He had been wandering between consciousness and unconsciousness when he had heard the girl and dragon arguing, effectively yanking him out the same nightmare he had every single time he closed his eyes and his core throbbed at the unwanted memory so he took another sip of the coffee to chase away the emotional ache with a physical one. Sleep came so rarely to him that the concept itself might as well have been a pipe dream to him, and that much was evident by the prick of soreness that shoots through his eyelids as he blinks to hide the reddish tint and puffy edges of his eyes from the Captain. 

_ ‘If you ever want to talk, I’m here for you.’  _ Gran reaches out to grasp his wrist once he’s finished signing to forcibly lower that cup of coffee from his lips before he has the chance to make a horrible mistake and down the rest of it. His fingers give a gentle squeeze where they rest, and he smiles up at Sandalphon. The recently crowned Supreme Primarch felt his core lurch into his already too sore throat. 

“I’m fine,  _ Captain, _ ” he croaks. He’s not fine. They all know he’s not fine. He hasn’t been fine in 2,000 years, and he most certainly was not fine right this very moment. Gran’s free hand comes up to pry his fingers off of the mug that he hadn’t realized he had been clutching with so much force that little splinters of fine porcelain were starting to chip off from the handle; his knuckles almost white behind the dark fabric of his gloves. With that fond smile plastered across devious features, Gran decides to take matters out of Sandalphon’s hands, by lifting that steaming mug to his own lips and taking a long, steaming hot sip of it before slamming it back down on the countertop - empty, as he gags. Gran had never liked the taste of coffee, a well known fact amongst the crew, and Sandalphon can’t stop the smile that tugs at his lips at the expression that mars their features - tongue hanging out, brows yanked tightly together, and pain crinkling the corners of their bright eyes. 

‘ _ Better?’  _ They sign as they straighten themself out _.  _

“Better,” he agrees.

* * *

The next time he knows something is indisputably, conclusively wrong is when he’s sitting on the rail of the Grancypher, sails fluttering in the breeze behind him as the masts creak gently beside the whirl of the engine he can’t see, looking out at the vast, blue sky that stretches out for miles upon miles in front of him. With no one around to see him, he reaches out with his hand so rough fingers can brush against wayward, fluffy clouds they pass by because it, somehow, makes him feel just a bit closer to  _ him _ . He knows the very idea is ridiculous, which is why he’s huddled up in the furthest corner he can find to wallow in his misery alone and undisturbed. Unfortunately, fate is absolutely determined to make sure he isn’t alone for a single moment today because the sound of footsteps is once again yanking him out of his dangerously lovesick daze, and he jerks his hand back like he’s been bitten by a monster before turning his head to look at his unwelcome company, sneer settling onto his features at the sight of those tiny wings and a face that looks just like  _ his _ despite also being nothing like _ his  _ at the same time. 

“What do you want?” He grunts, cradling his hand against his chest and rubbing the tiny bit of moisture that had gathered on his fingertips against the sleek, ebony armor that covered his scar-coated body. And Lucio looks absolutely absurd when the kiss of dawn makes his white hair glimmer gold against a fading sun as his cheeks crinkle from the smile that slips across his glossy lips. Those stupd, little wings of his flutter uselessly against the breeze as he walks up beside him and flings his arms over the railing directly beside Sandalphon’s thighs. His chest is pressed flush against the frigid bars while his fingers hang lazily over the edge as if he has all of the time in the world to make a menace of himself. 

“The Captain sent me to keep you company, but these chance encounters are truly something marvelous, and you should learn to cherish them, Sandy.” Sandalphon rolls his eyes and looks away from the intruder. The sky, in all of its whimsical beauty, is both cruel and comforting. He could stare into its expansive abyss for hours at a time, but the truth was that he was never actually looking at the sky itself. He was always looking beyond it, searching for something, or someone, that was missing. Yet, each day the sky failed to reward his longing and his core would drop ever deeper into the pit of his stomach. Soon, he thinks, it’ll have sunk so low that he might be able to feel its stiff pulse in his toes. 

“Yeah right.” He knows there's not a chance Gran would send Lucio of all people after him, even so, their conversation from earlier still sprung to the forefront of his mind. When the Captain had looked at him earlier, there had been turmoil mixed in those gentle eyes, and that still plucked at his chest when he thought about it. “What do you actually want?” 

Lucio further drapes himself over the rail and he has half a mind to push him over the rest of the way. It doesn’t matter if he can fly, it would still be satisfying to see, but, with all the willpower he can muster, he resists the urge. 

“I just wanted to have a little heart to heart with you,” Lucio coos, and Sandalphon scuffs at the words, head turning away from the other as heels clank hard against the deck when he lands squarely on the deck. “Wait, wait!” He hears Lucio call after him, but doesn’t stop. He’s not in the mood to look at that face today. No, it’s more like he can’t look at that face today, but he feels Lucio’s fingers wrap tightly about his wrist to keep him from escaping back into the empty darkness of his room. When a tug isn’t enough to shake the other off, he’s forced to come to a half in order to shoot a glare at Lucio. 

“Not interested.” This time when he pulls his hand away it’s with enough force that even Lucio can’t keep him tethered. Sandalphon’s lips twist into a firm frown as he’s met with wide eyes that soften after only a brief moment. Lucio’s hand falls back to his side as his shock is willed away in favor of the gentlest smile he can manage. It makes Sandalphon’s useless core twist into a painful knot that threatens to tear open his chest right then and there, so he grits his teeth and his fingers form trembling fists at his side in an attempt to stop the damn thing from doing just that. He can feel the sharp prick of something bitter and warm in the corners of his eyes, because, right now, when he looks at Lucio all he can see is that sorrowful expression Lucifer had given him when he had abandoned the former Supreme Primarch in that beautiful, but lifeless garden. He squeezes heavy, tired eyelids shut to will that expression out of his mind. 

“Sandy, I’m sorry.” Sandalphon inhales sharply through his nostrils at Lucio’s words, and sloppily runs the slick fabric of his glove across his eyes before he pries them back open. Lucio looks almost heartbroken where he stands - lips turned downwards into a sympathetic frown that makes his stomach churn while brows knit together in a way that makes the very corners of his eyes wrinkle. Lucio is looking at him like he’s something wild and broken and angry and he’s never given the other a reason to believe otherwise, but it still hurts to be stared at like he’s a maverick with that face. 

“For what?” His voice is harsher than he had intended it to be, and he can see Lucio flinch. The other’s fingers come up to rub at the exposed skin between the beginning of his glove and the end of his armor to lessen the blow he feels at the sound of Sandalphon’s voice. And Sandalphon knows he's hiding something from him. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s the fact that people have tip-toed around him for most of his life. Or maybe it’s just his overactive imagination taking root and telling him that something’s wrong because of course something’s wrong. Something’s always wrong with him.  _ “For what?” _ He repeats, even harsher than before, when Lucio doesn’t answer him as quickly as he had wanted him to. 

“If you,” Lucio begins, hesitant, he inhales sharply. He doesn’t look at Sandalphon when he continues, “Could see him again, what would you say to him?” 

And that was the final nail driven into Sandalphon’s metaphorical coffin. Jaw clenched, he whirled around on Lucio, one fist uncurling just so he could lash out and grab the other by the red ribbon fluttering about his neck. Tangling silken ends together to wrench him forward as he raises his fist - fire burning in his eyes as his shallow breaths heaved past trembling lips. His legs were quaking where he stood, and every muscle in his body taut and on edge. The world around them blurred into nothingness, and all he could feel was the heat of his anger as it rose to his paling features. Yet, despite all the power he knew Lucio held in the tips of his fingers alone, all the other did was stumble forward at the sudden force without a single twitch of resistance, and look up at him with sad, gentle eyes that made bile rise to the back of Sandalphon’s throat. 

“Sand -” Lucio begins, but he’s cut off by the clamor of boots and armor as the crew rushes over. Vyrn hurls himself between the two of them, raising his scaly tail to smack Sandalphon on the head in a panic, but the soft thud doesn’t even earn a reaction from the archangel. The dragon’s tiny, red wings flap against the air between Sandalphon and Lucio in a pitiful attempt to keep them apart, and he’s spouting nonsense Sandalphon can’t hear because his ears are ringing louder than even the the wail of the wind as it catches beneath the Grandcypher’s sails. 

Lyria is there, too, Sandalphon thinks in his angry daze, horror written upon her youthful features as she rushes over to Lucio’s side - Katalina isn’t far behind her, fingers wrapped about the hilt of her blade as she almost leaps into the fray herself to ensure Lyria’s safety. And it hurts. It hurts to think that she believed him capable of harming the girl in blue even now, but he also knows, deep down, why she would. He swallows thickly against the agony that creeps up, but his arm doesn’t come down. No, instead he pulls it back to swing, but a weight that slams against his back stops him from launching his first at Lucio’s face. He can only bring himself to lower that first when he feels strong arms wrap about his waist and physically pull him away from Lucio; red ribbon tumbling from his grasp as his hands immediately go to press against that firm set of arms clutched about his middle until his fingers brush against that calloused pair of hands, and he feels the prick of jagged scars against his fingers. These hands are Gran’s, he slowly realizes. He tilts his head back, and his glassy, scarlet eyes lock with the Captain’s for a moment before all of the strength drains from his exhausted body, and he almost collapses into Gran’s hold. Suddenly the world starts moving again, and he feels ill. 

“What’s the big idea, Sandals?” Vyrn barks. Those are the first words Sandalphon hears as he’s slowly shoved back into reality. He lowers his head in shame, eyes darting around the group to search for one sympathetic face amongst them. Lyria is wiping away tears from her eyes as Katalina wraps a comforting arm about her shoulder, the knight’s back is turned to him, but when she catches his gaze on her shoulders she only offers him a stern shake of her head. Lucio straightens himself up, tugging his ribbon back into place as he begins to walk back over to him, but he halts when Sandalphon can feel the Captain shake his head where it's currently pinned against his side.

“But he -” Another shake is enough to silence Vyrn’s protests before Gran shoots Katalina a look, and he sees the knight relax a bit before she tugs on Lyria’s shoulders.

“Come on. All of you,” Katalina scolds as she waits for Vyrn and Lucio to take their leave before she follows, Lyria still tucked beneath her arm. Sandalphon watches them go until they’re out of sight, and he finally lets his shoulders sag. His jaw stings from gritting his teeth so hard, and it takes all of his willpower to pry his fingers from where they had been gripping Gran’s arms. The Captain’s skin is littered with deep lines from where dull nails had dug trenches into his hands. That coffee he had chugged with the other in the cafe this afternoon almost comes back up at the sight.

Gran waits for a moment, giving Sandalphon time to steady himself on trembling legs, before he finally lets go, and steps back. Concern so painfully evident in his expression that it makes Sandalphon feel weak. 

“I -” Sandalphon begins. His voice is a hoarse, broken thing when it tears from his throat. Gran only shakes his head, and any combination of an apology, protest, or sob dies on his tongue. He feels so utterly defeated. 

‘ _ I need to tell you something.’  _ The Captain’s expression turns grave as he gestures for Sandalphon to follow him. The sight of the signs he reads is enough to make a rock settle in the pit of Sandalphon’s stomach because he’s known since this morning that something is so very wrong, but he’s been avoiding finding out what it could possibly be because he’s terrified of the endless list of possibilities his rotten brain had been able to conjure up since he had first heard the girl in blue and the oversized lizard arguing outside of his bedroom. But the part of him that is morbidly curious wins out, and he trails meekly behind Gran as the other leads him below deck, turning around so he’s facing Sandalphon, and seems without fear of bumping into anything as he continues backwards. ‘ _ First, I’m sorry that we’ve kept this from you.’  _ Those words were enough to make Sandalphon wrap his arms about his rumbling stomach. He couldn't take much more of whatever this was today. ‘ _ It’s my fault. I didn’t know how to tell you, so I told them to wait. So, blame me if you have to blame someone, all right?’ _

“Just say it,” he croaks, and his voice cracks as it leaves his mouth. 

Gran frowns, but continues.  _ ‘It’s about Lucifer.’  _ And how hesitantly he spells out at that name, as if he’s shielding Sandalphon from a bullet by taking it slow. Sandalphon doesn’t know if it helps to see that name spelled out in slow motion or just makes him feel worse. He bites down on his own tongue so Gran can continue.

‘ _ I don’t know the details, but Cagliostro and Lucio have been tirelessly working on,’  _ Gran pauses, takes a breath, and continues,  _ ‘Trying to save him since you joined us.’  _ Sandalphon has to do a double take to make sure he read those gestures correctly, and he can feel a protest bubbling up from the back of his throat, but Gran siliences him with a glare.  _ ‘Let me finish. He’s back, but,’  _ Sandalphon’s eyes go wide and it’s all he can do not to open his mouth to say something. Anything, but the fear of what might come next keeps him from leaping off the edge.  _ ‘He doesn’t remember anything. We’ve tried, really, Sandalphon, but nothing we’ve done can jog his memory. Cagliostro and Lucio, well, they’ve tried everything they can think of right now. I know it’s cruel to have kept hiding the truth from you, but I promise you it’s really him.’  _

Oh, so that’s it. That's the reason they’ve been tip-toeing around him like he’s made of glass and they’re each designed to shatter him in various, irreparable ways. Lips crease, and he can feel the faintest ember of anger spark within his core, but it fizzles out the moment it gains any steam because he doesn’t know what or how he should feel right now. Lucifer was back. He was alive. But at the cost of his memory. This world really is just too cruel. Couldn’t it do a single favor for the man who had fought unsung war after unsung war to keep it safe from harm? Couldn’t it just let Lucifer, not because Sandalphon wanted him to, but because Lucifer deserved it, have this one thing? No, of course not. And he can’t help but think this is all his fault. If he had never rebelled. If he had never doubted Lucifer in the first place, wouldn’t he still be alive? Whole and complete, with all of his memories intact. 

Then, worse than all of the crippling fear and bubbling anger, is the tiny voice in the back of his mind that whispers,  _ maybe things are better this way.  _ Maybe this is an act of mercy. Maybe forgetting about him was a blessing because he had never done anything but make Lucifer suffer. Maybe this was the world’s way of thanking the former Supreme Primarch for fighting day in and day out without rest for the Skydwellers who reaped the rewards of his unconditional affection without ever knowing he existed in the first place. So, maybe, just maybe, this is both Lucifer’s saving grace and his own personal Hell all bottled up into one neat little package that is specifically designed to toture him while sparing Lucifer of memories he was better off without. His hands are trembling at his sides where they’ve curled up into fists without his notice, and he can feel the bitter prick of lukewarm tears already starting to form in the corners of his mind. 

Gran reaches out to gingerly tap his fingers against Sandalphon’s paling knuckles - calloused skin having gone nearly as white as the wings that didn’t and shouldn’t belong to him. A sympathetic smile crosses the Captain’s lips as he wraps fingers about Sandalphon’s. His free hand came up to sign as he continued to guide the archangel down the hall. ‘ _ Are you all right, Sandalphon? If you’re not ready to see him yet I understand. If you need time to process -’ _

Sandalphon cuts them off with a firm shake of his head. If he doesn’t do this right here and now he won’t have the willpower to ever face Lucifer again. He’ll only end up running away, and a part of him, even though he trusts Gran with every fiber of his being, doesn’t believe any of this is real. That it can’t be real. That this can’t be happening. And if he doesn’t see Lucifer for himself he’ll never believe it. He’ll write it off as just another sad dream or happy nightmare and carry on with his days. Days he spends waking up in a cold sweat in the dead of night where he swears he can still feel the weight of Lucifer’s head in his arms and its fleeting warmth as he presses a bed of white hair to his chest. Days that pass by as he makes makes coffee on auto-pilot after willing away white wings that seem to have a mind of their own after a long, restless slumber that does nothing but leave him with thick bags etched beneath his eyes, and the sharp pang of bitter memories the night stirred up within his mind. Days that he often found himself staring out into the endless blue abyss that made up the ungrateful skies Lucifer had so loved, and seeing shimmering, rose-tinted pinions reflected in white, fluffy clouds. Days he wasted, alone, in his room, as he choked against silent sobs, and felt his core shatter under the weight of it all. 

Sandalphon says nothing, but Gran seems to understand. The Captain always does. He doesn’t know whether or not that unnerves or comforts him as he listens to the sound of his breathing and the gentle clank of his heels against the floorboards as they walk. His gaze dances along the doors, reading nameplates or glancing over decorative posters. He knows, by now, which room belongs to what crew member. Those rooms are awfully quiet at the moment. Normally these halls are filled with the sound of booming laughter as Lyria is hunched over her desk, scribbling away in her journal while Vyrn hovers over her and Katalina reads beside the two of them. Vyrn would often nod off and Katalina would reach out to squish his face while he was defenceless. He imagines, today, they hadn’t returned to their rooms yet, not wanting to bump into him on the way, most likely with Lucio in tow. The thought makes his fingers go numb, but the soft warmth of Gran’s hand where it still remains upon his own serves to ground him once more. Or, rather, it does until Gran finally comes to a halt before a door that is between what he knows is Lucio’s room and what he thinks might be Cagliostro’s, but he’s not certain because he’s never had enough of a death wish to find out the answer to that question. 

_ ‘Take as long as you need with him. I’ll give you as much space as you want, but if you need anything, Sandalphon, we’re all here for you so don’t be afraid to call for me - or anyone.’  _ Gran gives him a gentle pat before stepping back, smile stretched across his features, and Sandalphon can physically feel the rock that’s nestled itself so firmly in his gut that it weighs him down where he stands, but somehow manages to still work up the nerve to offer the Captain a nod, and a smile so fake he nearly chokes on it before turning to face that door. Gloved fingers lift to rest on the knob, but he doesn’t twist it open just yet. He’s too busy reminding himself how to breathe and distracting his wayward mind by counting the number of times his core flares up like it’s the heart of some lovesick Skydweller knocking on their lover’s front door. His free hand came up to press gingerly against his aching chest as he reminds himself that no matter what he feels, it won’t, actually, matter at all. Gran has already made it abundantly clear that Lucifer doesn’t remember him, and no matter how deep that knowledge cuts into him, he has to face the former Supreme Primarch again. If only just this once. Then, maybe, he can feel some sense of peace again. Maybe, then, the nightmares that plague him every night will dissipate, and he can move on with his life. Inhaling sharply, he pushes open the door. 

And Lucifer is there. Alive. White locks illuminated by an array of yellows, reds, and golds from the dying glare of the sun as it fades beneath the window his azure irises are so enamored by. Silver lashes almost glitter against the warm light that licks at their tired edges. Hands folded neatly upon his lap where a thin sheet is draped over his legs. A journal rests neatly between them, and a book is settled against his thigh. The cover is worn, but the writing inside is both messy and tidy where it snakes around colorful pictures that were clearly drawn by a child. It’s one of Lyria’s, Sandalphon realizes, when his gaze lingers on it for far too long before he dares to look up again. The shirt Lucifer is wearing is a far cry from ebony and golden armor he had once been so used to seeing the other in. It’s thin and baggy where it drapes over his slender shoulders, and Sandalphon knows it must belong to Lucio because it has nonsensical embellishments dangling from the hood that only he would be capable of finding fashionable. He would have scoffed at the sight if not for the fact that it makes him realize that Lucifer looks thinner than he had been before. The muscles of his forearms and biceps are less defined than they had been before. Sandalphon knows because he had once watched the other practice his swordsmanship for hours on end, and had seen how they had once contracted with every practiced slash of those blades. The shirt hungl in a way that made the sharp line of Lucifer’s hollowed collar bones visible. The sight is enough to make his core lurch into his burning throat, and he has to swallow it back down for fear that it might heave from his lips the moment he even so much as thinks about opening his mouth. 

Sandalphon stands there at the doorway for far too long before he works up the nerve to step over the threshold. The soft clank of his heels as he enters the room without an ounce of grace manages to capture Lucifer’s attention. The other’s expression is somewhat dazed, his eyes are glossy and tired, as he turns his head away from the window to face him. Even so, Lucifer's soft features crinkle as a gentle smile creases his lips at the sight of him, and Sandalphon very much considers either running away or throwing himself on the floor. But fingers curl into fists at his side, and he manages, with impressive restraint, to do neither one of those things. Instead, slowly walks over to the chair that’s positioned beside the bed and sits down awkwardly in it. His hand lifts to brush his fingers down the length of his back to reassure himself because he swears he can feel his wings bristle. Messy hair flutters against his breath as he exhales when he feels only the chips in his armor, and, only then, does he finally look back at Lucifer. 

“H-Hello, Lucifer-sama,” he grumbles, fingers fiddling awkwardly with the hem of his hood, gaze dipping downwards so he doesn’t have to look at the other. But he almost jumps right back up when he realizes the page Lucifer is currently turned to in Lyra’s journal has a drawing of him on it. The cartoon version of him she’s scribbled has a set of mismatched wings flared out behind him with purple swords positioned all around him. In the far, right corner there is a second set of white wings with little arrows pointing to his back and a few notes too small for him to read unless he wants to make it apparent he’s staring. And Lucifer’s fingers are positioned carefully around that drawing, as if he’s afraid to disturb it. 

“Good evening.” The sound of Lucifer’s voice makes his head snap upwards painfully, back going completely rigid against the chair. He can hear a certain wistfulness in the other’s tone, but the sound of it is as soothing and fond as it had always been when addressing him despite the fact that it should have never been so terribly tender when directed at his purposeless self. “You are Sandalphon, am I correct? Lyria has told me much about you.” He can barely process what Lucifer is saying. And it must show on his face because Lucifer tilts his head slightly; concern bubbling up in those beautiful eyes of his that conceal entire Skydoms within their depths. Having Lucifer look at him in such a way is almost enough to break him completely. He draws his bottom lip inward when he can feel it begin to quiver, and bites down firmly on soft flesh. 

“I am,” he croaks, and his voice breaks when it’s forced past his barren tongue. “What did she tell you?” He can barely form a coherent sentence yet Lucifer, with all of his grace and endless patience, sits there and waits for every word that he struggles to say without a single complaint or even a hint of annoyance in his serene expression. 

“I’m glad. I’ve wanted to meet you, or, I suppose, speak with you again would be more appropriate.” Lucifer’s fingers trace gingerly over that doodle as he speaks, and Sandalphon can hear just the faintest trace of melancholy in his voice. “She informed me we were once close, and about your involvement in saving the skies.” He looks almost pained as he continues, gaze lowering to that page he had open. “Forgive me, Sandalphon, I wish I could remember you.” 

In that moment, Sandalphon realizes three things. The first is that Lyria had, purposefully, it seems, only told Lucifer the most positive things about him while leaving out some of the less than savory things he had done, or putting a more upbeat spin on them. The journal on Lucifer’s lap, he suspected, was about him and him alone, and she must have spent nights pouring over it until she had finished it with the sole hope that it would jog Lucifer’s memories. The second was that, even without his memories, Lucifer was undeniably and overwhelmingly kind. He would fret over him no matter the situation, and he would speak of him with affection gripping his voice despite the fact that he was now little more than a fairy tale told by the mouth of a desperate girl to him. A desperate girl that Sandalphon made a mental note to embrace when he next saw her, and apologize to for, well, everything. The third and final thing that occurred to him in that moment was that, no matter what happened, he would, without even a shadow of a doubt, always love Lucifer. 

And, in the moment that third realization strikes him all he can mutter is a breathless, “Oh.” Hand drops from the worn down fabric of his hood and into his lap. He inhales sharply through his nostrils. That searing sensation of something pricking the corners of his eyes is threatening to make a comeback, and it’s all he can do to try to compose himself. “It’s all right, Lucifer-sama.” It hurts. It’ll always hurt, but Lucifer is here. Alive. Breathing. Right in front of him - in his entirety. He is here and existing and that is enough. It has to be enough for him. Fingers curl into fists where they rest upon his lap. He can do this. No, he has to do this. This is Lucifer. Without his memories, the person sitting before him right now is Lucifer. He knows because his core sets itself on fire at the sight of him while also composing maddening hymns about how grateful he is to be burned by Lucifer, and Lucifer alone. 

Then something warm and smooth touches his hand so gently that he barely notices at first. His breath hitches in his throat when he looks down to see Lucifer’s fingers resting gingerly upon his own calloused and scarred knuckles. Brown lashes fluttering upwards to meet the other’s gaze, a delicate smile of his own tugging at the corner of his lips as he loosens his fingers from where nails had been digging into his palm to twist his wrist as he can hold Lucifer’s hand within his own. He can feel Lucifer relax against his touch, his own fingers wrapping around Sandalphon’s in return. He swallows thickly, allowing the warmth of Lucifer’s hand to ground him. There’s a faint thrum from the other’s core that he can feel pulsing against his own where their thumbs touch. Lucifer is alive, he reminds himself again. Lips quiver. 

“I -” And he’s tried so hard to keep himself composed so Lucifer won’t worry about him, but his voice cracks and his chest is quaking. “Lucifer-sama.” And the way Lucifer looks at him is what makes him shatter. Those eyes that hold the sky within are looking at him with such tenderness and endearment and heartbreak all for him. He lowers his head, ashamed, when he feels the first pinprick of tears beginning to well up in the corners of his eyes. “I want to make new memories with you.” He tries to smile, and manages to, but it’s a frail thing marred by tears that roll down his cheeks and slip over the corners of his mouth. 

“Of course, Sandalphon.” No hesitation. Lucifer leans across the bed to settle his palm against Sandalphon’s cheek, thumb lifting to brush away the tears that stain the smaller’s face. “I would like nothing more than to make new memories with you.” His hand moves to the other side of Sandalphon’s visage to mimic the motion, and he can feel his core tremble all the while. A tug at something buried deep within him that all but screams at him within the confines of his own head. A part of him remembers this man. A part of him is intimately familiar with the sense of solace he feels in Sandalphon’s presence that had been entirely lacking when he had first met the girl in blue, the red dragon, the alchemist, and the man who resembled him. It’s overwhelming, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. Speaking to them hadn’t spurred on such feelings of fondness and familiarity within him. That part of him wants to see Sandalphon smile. It makes him believe that seeing the other safe, happy, and belonging is all he has ever wished for. “I pray; however, that with time my memories will return. Regardless, Sandalphon, strange as it is for me to say, I know a part of me does remember you, and that part of me wishes for your happiness.” Expression softens as Sandalphon tilts his head back up, and he can feel the other’s hold about his hand tighten ever so slightly.

Sandalphon shakes his head weakly, humor creeping into his smile. “Nonsense,” he exhales, but there’s no bite behind it. Somehow, the flow of the conversation feels so natural. As if they’re back in that shaded garden and he’s forcing his grumbling stomach to bear the sour taste of Lucifer’s earliest cups of coffee all while twisting pained expression into a smile as he spews out forced compliments for a drink that tastes like muddy water. 


	2. Sea Salt and Stars (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory beach episode (part one).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've had this, and the second part of this beach going adventure, written since I published the first chapter. However, I felt like there wasn't enough interaction between them so I went back and added the volleyball scene. Then I realized it was too long to justify uploading as one 'chapter' so I split it into two parts, and here we are. No beta as per usual, just doing my best to edit my own mess! 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for leaving behind kudos on the first chapter, it's much very much appreciated. I'm still a bit nervous since it's been so long since I've written a fic, but it means a lot to me that you've taken time out of your day to read this/leave kudos behind on it/bookmark it/whatnot! So, this is the fluff you all deserve!

Gran is half-leaning on one of the small, round tables in the cafe. Glass surface reflecting the cloudy sky that spills in through foggy windows and highlights the messy collection of porcelain cups strewn about haphazardly between crinkled napkins, a pitcher full of cream, and a hefty bowl filled to the brim with sugar. Honey-sweet and herbal-bitter scents collide in the air as steam wafts up from the piping hot surface of the coffee held within. His nose scrunches up as he blows animatedly on the delicate cup clutched between his thick fingers while his free hand fans uselessly at its contents. Lucio is in the seat directly across from him, facing the door, and a grin is plastered across his angelic features as he holds his own cup between his thumb and forefinger. There’s enough sugar piled into his cup that it’s visible from the cracked door that leads into the room, but it pales in comparison to the heaping mountain that’s stacked into Lyria’s where she sits beside Gran. Piled so high, in fact, that it peeks out from the rim and threatens to topple over as she mimics Gran’s actions with slightly less enthusiasm, long strands of blue hair swaying with the motion as she tries to swallow her giggles. Vyrn is watching the two of them with a juicy, red delicious apple balanced on the edges of his claws, sharp teeth having already torn a chunk from it and devouring it as he rambles about how he wishes Sandalphon was present to make them coffee because Lucio’s can’t compare and Gran’s is a cheap imitation of the real deal. 

Gran’s gaze lifts from his cup, cheeks puffed, as he lifts his hands to give the dragon a stern scolding when the door swings open. The gentle plop that follows when the door lightly taps against the wall nearly sucks the life right out of his lungs and he slams his cup down on instinct. The first thought that ran through his head was that Sandalphon’s meeting with Lucifer had gone terribly wrong and he shouldn’t have let them reunite so soon after Lucifer’s revival. The second was that the newly crowned Supreme Primarch was going to personally eradicate them for getting into his stash of well-concealed coffee beans that really weren’t well-concealed at all because Gran knew exactly where he kept the best ones despite the archangel’s impressive efforts to keep them out of each. But both thoughts are dashed from his mind when he braves an upwards glance and sees the shock written across Lyria’s face alongside the utterly dumbfounded one that’s painted across Lucio’s normally calm and collected visage. 

“L-Lucifer!” Lyria is the first to break from their shared stupor, fingers tightening around her cup as she leaps up from her seat, grains of sugar tumbling out from the side of her cup with the sudden motion but she doesn’t seem to notice, even as they begin to make a comically large pile in the fold of her dress. Gran hastily reaches out to pry the cup from her hands and sets it safely back down on the table before turning in his seat to see the former Supreme Primach in all of his glory standing in the entrance of the cafe with one of Lucio’s old shirts hanging off of his shoulders and white locks tousled in a way that he might have considered scandalous prior to everything he’s personally seen the other go through in the days since Cagliostro had fashioned him a body. The smile on Lucifer’s face was a mixture of melancholy and trepidation, and Gran can’t stop himself from almost toppling his chair over as he leans over the back to peer around Lucifer’s tall frame in search for a familiar bed of brown hair that doesn’t follow as he had expected. 

“Good afternoon, Lyria. Would you mind if I joined all of you?” Lucifer, for his part, either doesn’t notice the shock written plain as day across every single one of their faces or just chooses to outright ignore it because he takes Gran’s hesitant nod as a ‘yes’ and makes his way over to the table in a fluid motion that leaves the trio dumbfounded as he sits down in the empty chair between the Captain and Lucio. 

Vyrn, claws digging into his poor apple until juice has seeped into soft fur, swallows around the bite he had taken, and attempts to make conversation. “So, uh, where’s Sandals?” But he suspects he shouldn’t have asked that question when Gran tenses visibly at the words and Lucio passes his cup over to Lucifer to distract him from the thick air that settles over the group. And Lucifer, once again, either doesn’t notice or has become so accustomed to maintaining appearances he doesn’t even remember having to harbor that he accepts the cup with a dazzling smile that rivals Lucio’s on the best of days. Gran has a feeling it’s the former. 

“He wished to speak to the alchemist.” Lucifer’s tone is casual as he takes a sip of Lucio’s too sweet coffee, and sets it back down on the table without his expression faltering. Gran can only admire the pose he possesses, even without his memories and while wearing clothing that didn’t suit him at all, that Sandalphon is severely lacking in. “However, there is something I hoped to speak to all of you about,” he pauses for a moment, slender finger lifting to trace lazily around the golden rim of the cup. “I am afraid I still can’t remember him, even after meeting him.” 

Gran deflates visibly at Lucifer’s words, a frown maring his features where it pinches the corners of his lips and drags heavy eyelids down _.  _ He had hoped beyond hope that just seeing Sandalphon’s face would be enough to spark something in the former Supreme Primarch, and now he feels as if he owes the pair an apology for instilling both of them with a false sense of security. _ ‘I’m sorry, Lucifer, I really hoped meeting him would make something stick.’ _ He can almost feel his heart break for Sandalphon, and the sad smile Lucifer offers him in return is more than enough to deal the final blow. 

Lyria shifts where she stands beside him to place her palm on Gran’s back. Unlike him, her own expression is endlessly bright and steadfastly optimistic. “Don’t worry, I’m sure everything will come back to you once you spend more time with him.” Her hands curl into tiny fists, and Vyrn scrambles to his paws, wings fluttering behind him, as he nods vigorously in agreement. 

“I can only pray.” He withdraws his hand from the cup. “However, I cannot shake the feeling that I do know him, so, for the time being, I would like to make new memories with him. I was hoping the four of you might be able to give me suggestions as to how to go about accomplishing that.”

Lucio, who has been uncharacteristically quiet until now, seems to spring back to life, quite literally, by shooting up from his chair. His muscular arm wraps about Lucifer’s shoulders and the contrast between their frames is almost startling, especially given the fact that their faces and body types are nearly identical. Gran had noted, when Lucifer had first been revived, that he looked more worn than he had when he had first met the former Supreme Primarch. He now lacked that untouchable aura that had silenced the other Primarchs in an instant, as well as much of his original muscle mass, but it had never been so apparent to Gran as it was now. To the point where Lucifer’s lean shoulders press awkwardly into Lucio’s broad chest that seems to dwarf Lucifer’s figure, and his smile is almost timid when he turns to meet Lucio’s blindingly bright grin. Tiny wings fluttering as if he’s just heard the best news of his life. 

“Your devotion is admirable, my friend.” Lucio’s voice echoes against the cluttered walls of the cafe and makes the cups resting upon the table rattle with its intensity. Lucifer blinks up at him, lips curving slightly in what appears to be apprehension, but Lucio doesn’t give him the chance to doubt his intentions. “I dare say that I have the perfect suggestion for you.” Lucio leans in close, and it appears to take Lucifer every ounce of restraint he possesses not to shove the other away. “We should go to Auguste. The glistening beaches, warm air, and breathtaking ocean is destined to bring two people closer to one another!” 

Just as the suggestion slips from his lips the door creaks open and in strides a grim-faced Sandalphon. Gloved fingers lifting to pluck tattered, brown feathers from tousled locks before he dusts muck and grime from the creases of his armor all while glaring daggers directly at Lucio. And if he didn’t currently look like something one of Dante’s cats had dragged as he marched his way over to the table, Gran might have found it all very endearing. Instead, he found himself relieving unpleasant memories from Sandalphon’s rebellious phase that sent a distinct shiver down his spine as he tried to, discreetly, sshh Lucio for his sake. But Lucio, oh flamboyant, overdramatic Lucio, has absolutely no sense of danger and continues to mumble on and on about the beach directly into Lucifer’s ear until Sandalphon is almost on top of the two of them. 

“Not happening,” Sandalphon responds curtly, setting his hand on the back of Lucifer’s chair. 

Lucio casually peels himself off of his lookalike while appearing downright despondent. “Come now, Sandy, I think it would be a wonderful opportunity.” But the wiggle of Sandalphon’s nose as that nickname has the displeasure of grating his ears doesn’t bode well for the hopeful looks plastered across the faces of his fellow crew members, Lucifer included, all of whom almost visibly deflate when the corners of his lips twitch as if he’s about to give each one of them a stern scolding. Well, save for Lyria, and her reckless, innocent optimism that almost single-handedly quells his protests then and there. 

It’s Lucifer who has the honor of dealing the final blow this time around, though. “I see, it’s a shame. I was looking forward to creating new memories with you, Sandalphon.” Gran could see, with almost magnified intensity, the moment Sandalphon caved, without even a fraction of hesitation, to that honey-bathed voice and those sparkling, cerulean eyes. 

* * *

“I would very much like to watch you play this volleyball, Sandalphon.” And, just like that, all of Sandalphon’s grumbling, which had started the moment his toes had sunk into the sands of one of the many beaches that composed the Auguste isles, came to an abrupt and screeching halt. His lips snapped shut and every complaint that might have followed is swallowed without hesitation. Of all the things he had expected to hear from Lucifer’s mouth the word ‘volleyball’ wasn’t among them, and he only had the girl in blue to blame for it when she had come trotting out of the shop with a colorful ball clutched in her frail arms as she excitedly explained the rules of the game to Gran and Katalina. Both of whom had just so happened to be standing within earshot of the eager former Supreme Primarch, and now, here he was, about to pay the price for Lucifer’s seemingly endless curiosity. But all he could do was stare at the clueless smile stretched across Lucifer’s features for what felt like a solid twenty minutes because he couldn’t say no to anything when it was came from  _ that  _ mouth, in  _ that _ buttery voice, but by the Skies above did he not want to be on the receiving end of anything that gave Katalina the freedom to spike a ball directly at his head when he was well aware of the fact that she was still upset with him for nearly making Lyria cry. 

A swift jab to his side yanked him, rather violently, from his daze, and he cast a glare at Gran’s offending elbow.  _ ‘So, are you in or not?’  _ Sandalphon outright huffs as he watches the Captain’s hands while desperately trying to ignore the excited looks Lucifer and Lyria were giving him. He concludes, with great reluctance, that there is no force within this Skydom or any of the other one for that matter, that could possibly withstand the combined force of their innocent grins and bashful glances. Truly a dangerous duo that should not, under any circumstance, be taken lightly. 

“Fine. I’m in.” He drags himself into the sandy court where Katalina and Lyria are already waiting on the opposing side of the net. He can hear the shuffle of Gran’s feet as he follows suit after him, taking up a position near the net .He doesn’t need to see the other’s face to know he’s grinning from ear to ear because he can see Lyria’s visage across from him and her smile is so wide it makes her cheeks flush from the pressure of it. Sandalphon; however, doesn’t have the luxury of watching the Singularity and the girl in blue exchange playful looks at one another when he can feel the knight’s gaze on him from well beyond the net, the ball held firmly in her hand. A shiver threatens to run down his spine, but he purses his lips and digs his heels into the sand. He has a bad feeling about this, but he can’t afford to look awful either. Not when Lucifer is watching him from the sidelines, and this might very well end up being one of the first of, hopefully, many new memories they’ll make together. 

“I’ll be serving first. For Lyria’s sake I won’t be holding back, so prepare yourselves,” Katalina declares.

Sandalphon can’t help but feel those words are aimed solely at him when she doesn’t even spare Gran a glance, and he swallows around the lump that begins to form in his throat as he crouches down, eyes glued to the knight as she takes her place. Her arm, still covered in armor that shelters its muscular form from view, swings back to toss the ball high into the blindingly bright sky above before she races after it. The thick contours of her thighs contracting when she leaps up from the sand, kicking grains in every direction, as her hand, thick with callouses from countless battles, slams into the feather-light object with enough force that he swears he can hear a bit of air leak out from it when it’s sent spiraling in his direction. His arms come out in front of him on instinct. He’s seen the Singularity play this game before and he’s confident he understands the rules. His forearms facing upwards with only the thin fabric from the loose jacket he wears to protect them from the force, and slides his feet along the mushy ground to meet that ball with surprising grace. But the sensation of it slamming hard against his arms stings almost as much as being struck by a rampaging monster in the depths of Pandemonium once had, and he can see faint marks of red blossoming upon his skin where it had struck him. Thankfully, the ball still manages to gain altitude, and flies seamlessly back into the air. Yet, all he can think is that he’s grateful he had centuries of swordplay under his belt or that serve might very well have snapped his arms in half.

Still, his receive had gone better than expected, sending it directly over Gran within easy reach of the Captain, and he couldn’t stop his lips from twitching upwards into a smirk as he watched it. Well, that was, until Gran had the audacity to allow it to lose all of the power it had held before he leaps up, dramatically, heels kicking off of the squishy sand and yanking his arm back with enough force to rattle the skies themselves...only to tap the ball as gently as he can manage so it just barely made it over the night and right to an overjoyed Lyria, much to Sandalphon’s utter shock and horror. So much for the Captain being on his side, he snorts, as he watches the girl in blue take a few steps back on unsteady legs to gingerly lift the ball into the air and right into Katalina’s palm, sending it hurling back at him once more. 

He flings himself into the ball’s path, arms stretched out as his chest collides with the ground, but even that isn’t enough for him to reach the incoming ball in time. No, instead he feels it flop into the dirt directly in front of his coiled fist and he earns a mouthful of sand rather than the sweet melody of rubber smacking against skin. 

Behind him he can hear the excited clamor of Lucifer clapping his hands from the sidelines as if he’d just done something spectacular. With a groan, he lifts his face up from the ground, and spits out a wad of sand. His tongue tastes like paper when he swallows, and he heaves himself back up without bothering to dust off all the grime that now clings to him. “Captain,” he heaves as he glares at the Singularity’s back. He can see the muscles of Gran’s shoulders tense under his intense gaze. “Just whose side are you on?” Gran only offers him a sheepish shrug as he grabs hold of the ball and tosses it back over to Katalina. 

His rage is promptly cut off by the birdsong that is Lucifer’s pleasant, but oh so clueless voice, “That was wonderful, Sandalphon.” 

Said archangel inhales sharply at the other’s words and his continuous clapping from where he’s seated in the sand a few feet behind him. Skies give him strength not to make a fool out of himself in front of this man. Or, well, more of a fool than he already has. Shimming his feet in the sand, he hunched over, hands grasping his thighs as he glared at Katalina when she took her place at the back line once more. Not a single spec of sweat on her person as far as he could tell, and, yet, here he was. Panting, damp auburn locks clinging to his skin, and he refuses to admit he’s actually even remotely intimidated by the knight so he tightens his grip on his thighs, long legs bent slightly at the knees as he prepares himself for the serve he knows will be aimed directly at him because apparently the Captain had decided to throw in the towel before they even began. 

Gritting her teeth against the balmy wind, Katalina all but spiked the ball directly at the archangel with enough force that he could hear the helium-filled balloon whizz through the air at an almost supersonic pace, and he swallowed around sandy buried in his throat as he stepped forward. Arms out to meet what was likely his certain demise, but he had never been one to back down from a challenge, and he wasn’t about to start now that he had Lucifer’s undivided attention for once in his life. So, he met that ball head on with the resolve of a drowning man clinging to a single grain of sand in the middle of a vast ocean, and the result was every bit as graceless as one would expect. A hushed curse parting his lips as he feels the rubber slam into his poorly concealed forearms with enough force to bruise worse than most of the scars littered across his body ever had. He clenches his jaw against the impact, and heaves his arms up with all of the strength he can muster, squinting against the glare of the sun and through the pain that flows through his entire body. Only to watch, mouth agape and scarlet eyes glittering in despair, that ball sail softly right back over the net and directly to the girl in blue. 

“I’ve got it!” With a wave of her tiny hand, Lyria backs up to receive the ball. Her twin braids swaying in the breeze behind her as her brows furrowed in concentration. She lifts up her palms and just barely taps the descending ball back into the air. Not too far from the net. Allowing Katalina to leap up to slam it right back down at Sandalphon once more, much to the archangel’s dismay, but his pride is relentless. So he throws himself at that speeding back and manages to save it before tumbling back into the sand with a soft _ ‘oof’  _ all over again. Only for that ball to flutter smoothly over to the traitorous Captain who then gently hoists it into the air above the net so Lyria, in all her determined and blissfully unaware glory, could leap up and spike it with the force of a mouse. With a faint thus, it drops down into the sand directly in front of Sandalphon’s face. A groan is heaved past his mouth at the sight before he tilts his head against the sand to watch as Gran gives him a joyful thumbs up, and signs, with great pleasure,  _ ‘Nice save.’  _

‘Nice save’ his ass, he considers snapping, and might have if he weren’t so overly aware of Lucifer’s presence. So he, instead, rolls back onto his feet and claps his hands together to grind the sand that clings to his palms from his person and smirks with confidence he doesn’t have any right to possess. “So, Captain, is that how things are going to be?” Three on one, huh? He’s faced far worse odds and manages to come out on top. He can handle this. “Do your worst.”

Those are the last words he has the displeasure of spitting before he’s seated on a barrel behind the makeshift cafe Lucio has been running since they had arrived. A deep shadow cast over him by the straw roof that’s nestled over the coffee grinder and collection of supplies that are boxed up behind the table where Lucio and Lyria are enthusiastically handing out countless snow cones to the massive line of Skydwellers that seems to stretch the very length of the beach itself. Each muffled voice, that he can hear, is busy whispering absolute nonsense about the worthless imposter serving them treats with a grin as he tosses sweet lines at them Sandalphon is convinced wouldn’t be capable of woo’ing a dog let alone an actual person, but he’s proven wrong each and every damn Lucio has the gall to open his stupid mouth. If his scowl is anything to go by, his mood is downright sour after getting completely obliterated in the volleyball match he had been roped into. 

The sheer sleeves of his open jacket are rolled up well past his elbows to reveal a brand new, and rather hefty collection of purple and blue bruises blooming all over his skin. Ones that make even the scars from past battles and age-old experiments now hidden beneath them look tame in contrast. They sting like hell, too, but he’s far too proud to admit it. So, he sits stock straight in an attempt to not further agitate his ailing body while he watches Lucifer carefully wrap a an impressive amount of ice from the bucket they should be using for snow cones, but Lyria had taken pity on him after seeing his condition and thrust it into Lucifer’s arms before going off to help Lucio, in a velvety cloth he had been given by that traitors Captain. Somehow, there’s still a smile on the former Supreme Primarch’s face, and that smile is just about the only thing keeping Sandalphon still and subdued at the moment, even if he’s blushing from ear to ear after embarrassing himself so drastically. 

“You did wonderful, Sandalphon.” Lucifer gingerly takes both of Sandalphon’s arms within his hands so he can rest them on his lap, ever mindful to never touch the monstrous bruises the archangel’s stubbornness had earned him. Gingerly setting that ice-filled cloth upon his skin that was beginning to swell. 

A muffled hiss vibrates in Sandalphon’s throat, and he scrunches up his nose up in agony for a moment before the frigid touch finally begins to numb the burning just a bit. “Lucifer-sama, thank you.” His gaze finally flickers upwards towards the other, and he regrets it the moment he sees the look of concern tainting Lucifer’s pretty features as he’s bent over Sandalphon’s arms, carefully tending to the archangel’s almost entirely self-imposed injuries with gentle caresses and astounding precision. Sandalphon suspects Lucifer doesn’t know the rules to the game, despite having overheard some of them earlier, especially given the fact that he had asked him if he had won following the end of their game when it had been painfully clear he had been utterly defeated. He hadn’t even managed to score a single point off of the girl in blue and her fearless knight. It was pathetic, truly. 

“Are you feeling a bit better now?” Lucifer finishes covering every inch of Sandalphon’s throbbing arms in ice to tame the swelling, hands still resting in the archangel’s upturned palms, and Sandalphon is both far too sore and much too delighted to ask him to move them. His own fingers curl, with what little strength they have left, to wrap about Lucifer’s. His own shoulders tense at first, as if he expects Lucifer to snatch his hands away at the affectionate touch, but when the other either fails to take notice or simply doesn’t mind the gesture, he allows himself to relax. 

“Yes, thanks to you.” Despite the bitter taste that lingers on his tongue from swallowing a pound of sand earlier and the scratchiness of his voice from taking one too many balls to the face, he must sound sincere enough because Lucifer finally looks up from his arms to offer him one of those breathtaking smiles Sandalphon adores so much. 

“I am glad that I was able to help you, and I am grateful you were willing to play that game. It was quite fascinating to watch all of you.” 

Fascinating isn’t the word Sandalphon would have used to describe his lackluster performance, but he was grateful Lucifer’s condition was too unstable at the moment for him to do anything so strenuous, thus sparing him from taking part in the same himself. Cagliostro had given him a thorough lecture about the fact that the former Supreme Primarch was still settling into his newfound body and should, therefore, not be allowed to take part in anything that might injure or excite him too much. Not to mention the fact that Lucifer was Lucifer and while he appeared to no longer have his former abilities there was always the chance that his unique properties, alongside his proximity to Sandalphon, might end up awakening any lingering sparks that could still be contained within his soul. Sandalphon, frankly, only understood about half of what she was saying at any given point in time, and he was loath to admit that what he did have some grasp on was a direct result of having been awake, more often than not, during the experiments that had been conducted on him. He almost shudders at the memory, but the warmth of Lucifer’s hands held within his keeps him grounded in the present. 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” Even if it was at his expense. “There’s still a lot for you to see here. You haven’t had the chance to look at the ocean yet, right?” That was partly his fault for getting dragged into the game directly after they had arrived, and then needing Lucifer to lick his wounds. Bahamut, that woman doesn’t know how to hold back. 

“I have not, but I was hoping to look at it with you. Will you accompany me?”

“Of course, Lucifer-sama.” Sandalphon gives the other’s hands a small squeeze in reassurance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on twitter (august_ashes), if you'd like to scream with me about gay angels.


	3. Sea Salt and Stars (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory beach episode (part two).

Even in all of its glory, golden grains shimmering against the glare of the sun and crystalline waters licking at the damp shoreline that mirrors the vast, undaunted glow of azure skies, the ocean couldn’t hold a candle to Lucifer. His soft, opalescent locks frame his near-immaculate face and all but glow when the dwindling glare of the sun catches them just right. The smile that tugs at the corners of those pale lips as he looks down at the waves that lap gently as his bare feet makes Sandalphon’s core leap within his chest. Each time the lukewarm water touches his skin, his toes wrinkle against moist sand like he doesn’t know what to do with this newfound sensation, and Sandalphon understands because he had felt the same way once. The loose clothes that drape over his willowy frame are a stark contrast to the armor the archangel had never seen him out of before his revival only a few days prior. The open shirt he dons just barely exposes his chest where white cotton clings to his collarbones, and hangs from his forearms where nearly sheer sleeves are limp against the breeze. His eyes are as blue as the sparkling water at his vast and as vast as the skies he gazes upon with such wonder and awe that it tugs at the deepest part of Sandalphon’s being because he can’t remember the last time, if ever, that he’s seen such a carefree expression on Lucifer’s face. It’s infectious, and he can’t suppress the curve of his own lips at the sight as calloused fingers draw upwards to brush messy, brown locks from his eyes. 

“The beach is truly beautiful, Sandalphon.” When Lucifer turns to look at him, the sun perfectly framing his near porcelain-like features in a golden glow that made a delicate halo of light linger behind his head, Sandalphon felt his core lurch painfully into his mouth, and he doesn’t know if it’s a direct result of the twisted experiments he endured rearing their ugly heads once again or if the smile that’s curving onto the rose-tinted lips of the former Supreme Primarch is just such an incredible thing to behold that it’s capable of destroying thousands of years of evolutionary development in the blink of an eye. 

He sputters, and croaks out a measly, “Yeah,” and he doesn’t mean the beach, but Lucifer accepts his answer with an even wider smile, and if he keeps grinning at him like that Sandalphon’s not confident he can stop the heat he can feel rising to his cheeks from turning his entire face the same shade of red as that damn ribbon Lucio hooked around Lucifer’s neck so they could ‘match’. So, he lifts his hand and loudly clears his throat before trudging through moist sand that clings to the bottoms of his feet to stand beside the other. “This might be the first time you’ve seen the ocean in person.” There’s a gentle tug at his chest because even though he knows that, Lucifer doesn’t. 

“Is it?” Lucifer’s brows crinkle in thought as he brings his index finger to his lips. Precious little has stirred even the faintest bit of recognition on his part. He has memorized Lyria’s journal to the point where he could perfectly recreate her little drawings with astounding accuracy from nothing but the images stored in his head, but not a single line of text written on those pages had inspired anything in him. Even most of the crew is met with the same empty stare despite the fact that there are a few he should know of according to Lyria’s notes, the girl in blue included in that list. It is Sandalphon alone that sparks any sense of familiarity in him, but that familairy is like a maverick tidal wave in the vast expanse of a calm sea. It always hits him with so much force that he doesn’t know what to do with the grief, joy, and longing that threatens to drown him whenever he stands beside the other. He knows Sandalphon. The how and why; however, have only been told in bits and pieces to him from various memories of the crew with little impact. “I am glad, then, that the first time I was able to gaze upon the ocean was with you.”

Sandalphon turns, and Lucifer takes the time to count, ten different shades of red as the smaller shoves his knuckles against his own mouth, possibly, to silence the muffled noise that he can still hear vibrate within the other’s throat. There is something so very familiar about that action that it makes his core warm when he keeps his gaze on Sandalphon. A part of him tells him that looking away from the other’s flushed features would be nothing short of criminal, and he can’t stop himself from agreeing when Sandalphon looks absolutely radiant. 

“I’m glad, as well,” Sandalphon nearly chokes against his hand before he inhales sharply against the bitter tang of ocean air and the distant warmth of bergamot that still clings to him from the popup cafe Lucio has almost taken over entirely at this point. His hand falls back to his side when his mouth threatens to quiver into a frown. 

Lucifer reaches out to gingerly take that same hand within his own, seeming to sense that something unpleasant is on the other’s mind. His skin is oddly smooth in contrast to the thick calluses, twisted scars, and dry knuckles of Sandalphon’s, and he can feel the hesitant touch of the other’s thumb as it slides along the curve of his palm. “Forgive me, Sandalphon, for not remembering. However, even if I cannot recall the details of our relationship, I am aware that you are someone very dear to me.” That thumb that had been tracing the soft, blue veins beneath his skin stopped dead, and his own hand squeezed against the other’s in what mild reassurance he can offer. 

“What makes you believe that?” Sandalphon’s voice wavers. It cracks and stumbles and chokes as those last words spill clumsily into the air, and his foot lifts to dig his toes into the burning hot sand to distract himself from how scratchy his own voice sounds against his ringing ears. He’s terrified of the answer. Had Lucio said something to him, or was his mind just playing tricks on him again? He finds himself doubting the reality of his current situation.Maybe this whole thing is just some elaborate dream of his? It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s hallucinated Lucifer standing beside him, saying sweet words, and touching him fondly. It wouldn’t even be the first time his mind had come up with such a vivid explanation for his reason for being here, alive, and fear must show in his face because he feels Lucifer guide their hands upwards and settle his war-torn knuckles against the smooth skin of his chest. 

Sandalphon nearly pulls away. Nearly trips over his own toes that he’s buried in the sand to escape the sudden contact that he both longed for and was terrified of at the same time. But swallows, and allows his hand to be guided. The warmth that radiates from Lucifer’s skin is almost unbearable where it stings against his own, but that thought is forgotten when he keeps himself steady long enough to feel the faint drum of the other’s core as it hums within his chest. The hymn it sings is sporadic yet soothing. Wild yet calm. A mix of emotions that Sandalphon knows because he’s felt them all before in equal measure. It’s not the gentle lullaby that dies against the fading embers of a darkened sky, and it’s not even the content song that echoes into the abyss of a spring shower on a warm day. No, it’s something louder. Something untamed. More akin to a scream muffled by a feathery pillow at two in the morning when he thinks no one can hear him weep, or the hoarse bellow that echoes against the looming walls of his room when he can’t bring himself to face the crew after a fitful night of nightmares and grief. It’s filled with emotions he hadn’t known until his time with the crew. It’s almost a mirror of his own which longs for nothing but to remain blissfully with Lucifer forever more. 

“When I am with you is the only time it behaves in such a manner.” He can barely register the sound of Lucifer’s voice over the distorted buzz in his ears, but when he does, he’s reminded that though he had been some untouchable, holy being who knew no equal when it came to a blade or the magic that had been naturally embedded into his feathers, Lucifer’s strength was not solely physical, and that had, for the longest time, put miles between them. 

“Oh,” Sandalphon breathes into the humid air as he feels Lucifer’s grip slack and he takes the chance to splay his fingers out against the other’s chest. “Mine is the same.” He reaches out to take Lucifer’s free hand in his own and presses the other’s palm to his own chest. His usual armor is discarded for the more casual clothes typical of Skydwellers’ attending the beach, though he still finds such revealing outfits ridiculous. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips when Lucifer seems to light up at their contact. His fingers curling slightly as he feels the maverick pulse of Sandalphon’s core where it throbs against his chest. Lips parting as his gaze slips downwards as if he’s attempting to peer through flesh and bone to see what’s nestled within. And Sandalphon thinks that he just might be able to unravel him if he stares at him with such feverish intensity for much longer. 

“Luci -” The name is cut off when he senses a presence beside them, and he doesn’t crane his neck around fast enough to catch sight of the offender before he feels a rough hand settle against his own where it was still held about Lucifer’s wrist while he spies a second hand coming up to rest upon Lucifer’s where it’s pinned his other to the former Supreme Primarch’s chest. Color rises to his features as he glares at those perfectly tanned hands, frown twisting onto his features as his gaze slowly lifted from where their hands met to stare directly into Lucio’s painfully clueless eyes. “Lucio - “

“Gentlemen.” Lucio’s grin is almost enough to put the sun to shame, but it does little to quell the scowl that’s wormed its way onto Sandalphon’s features. The only thing stopping him from grabbing him by that stupid ribbion is the fact that both of his hands are currently occupied by Lucifer’s and he’s not keen on breaking their meager contact. Lucifer, ever the gentle-hearted soul that he is, only furrows his brows at the intruder, but is equally reluctant to shake his hand off as it would mean disturbing Sandalphon’s, and that was a thought he simply couldn’t bear to humor. “I am in need of your assistance,” Lucio carries on as if he is oblivious to the looks being thrown his way, his voice dripping with grave sincerity that makes even Sandalphon put a hold on his budding anger to listen to him. 

“Well, spit it out already.” Sandalphon, reluctantly, shakes his hand free of Lucio’s before leaning onto his toes to shove his other from Lucifer’s, stepping just a bit closer to the Primarch in the process when he notices that Lucio isn’t looking at him at all. No, he’s looking directly at Lucifer, and the glint of something downright devious that forms in his eyes is enough to make a shiver run down Sandalphon’s spine. He’s impressed, but not surprised that Lucifer can meet Lucio’s gaze with nothing more than mild curiosity and what appears to be lingering disappointment, though Sandalphon might just be flattering himself with that one. 

“I’ve found myself in a rather tragic position.” One of his hands comes to rest over the center of his chest with a dull, but still overly dramatic thud as he flicks his wrist with a flamboyant flourish that makes Sandalphon’s already enraged expression twitch visibly, even more so when Lucifer manages to look concerned. “All of our lovely customers have begun to fight over yours truly, and I cannot bear the heartache that plagues me from their squabbling.” Forget strangling him, Sandalphin was going to incinerate him right then and there. But, no, either Lucio had about as much self-preservation as a fish leaping for joy at a bait-less hook or he was just so painfully oblivious to his surroundings that he failed to notice the waves of hostility currently pouring from Sandalphon because he continued to speak uninhibited, “So, please, Sandy, won’t you allow me to borrow Lucifer for a moment?” 

“If I’m able to be of assistance to you, Lucio, I will gladly help you put an end to this battle,” Lucifer answers before Sandalphon can collect his thoughts enough to snap the other man in half. And his voice is so full of concern that it’s evident he didn’t quite understand the nature of Lucio’s plight. He even tolerates, with steadfast resolve, Lucio yanking his hands away to gather them into his own palms, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes as he looks at Lucifer as if he’s his personal saint and savior all at once. 

Until Sandalphon clears his throat and steps forward that is. “What, exactly, do you need Lucifer-sama for?” He growls those words more than he speaks them and Lucio finally seems to get the message because he releases his hold on Lucifer’s hands, though he doesn’t lack for confidence. 

“Surely having two of us to behold will be more than enough to quench their thirst for my beauty.” Lucifer can see the exact moment Sandalphon snaps, his lips parting slightly to stop him when he can feel the physical shift in the atmosphere as thousands upon thousands of particles of lights begin to gather around the shorter primarch. Still blissfully unaware of his impending doom, Lucio continues to prattle on about this and that, but Lucifer has since tuned him out almost entirely. His hands waving around desperately as he tries to urge the other to leave, but his efforts are done in vain and Lucifer can do nothing but watch on in horror as wings sprout from Sandalphon’s back. 

“Ain Soph Aur!” 

* * *

The gentle click of his heels against the freshly polished wood of the deck echoed against the translucent sails of the Grandcypher before fading out against the deep navy of the night sky that extended out as far as the eye could see. A thousand glittering stars decorated that otherwise dreary backdrop, burning against the silver gleam of the moon that licked at tousled, auburn hair. More disheveled than usual thanks to the lecture he had just sat through with the Captain, and the sheer number of times his rough fingers had found themselves tearing through his hair until he’d managed to create a proper bird's nest out of it. Inhaling, a chill settled in his lungs as the crisp air tumbled down his throat and helped clear his head. He was still of the mind that Lucio had deserved his anger for suggesting something so outlandish as to have Lucifer be a stand-in for him, not to mention the other was perfectly fine (much to Sandalphon’s dismay), but, no, according to the Captain attacking other crew members, no matter how obnoxious or deserving of it they happen to be, is grounds for a long-winded scolding and a forced, begrudging apology he had spent the better part of the day working up the nerve to say to the other’s face. Drained, that hand lowered to rub at the back of his neck, to ease the tension from stiff muscles as he walked. 

He had already apologized to Lucifer multiple times for little more than being subjected to seeing him losing his cool, but he had shrugged it off with gentle words and a shake of his head as he reassured Sandalphon he would wait out on the deck for him until he was through with his punishment. His punishment being a strongly-worded apology letter to Lucio that the other had accepted eagerly despite the fact that the Captain felt it didn’t quite meet his standards, but had little choice to let it pass upon seeing the joy that lit up Lucio’s features when it had been handed off to him. But it had been hours since they had parted, and he can’t imagine Lucifer would have waited that long for him. Not without his memories to tether the two of them together. Still, the thought made his core ache. How many lonely nights had he spent in that garden waiting with baited breath, and a sickeningly hopeful heart for Lucifer to arrive only to find himself all alone in the end? How many times had he felt the tips of his wings grow cold with frost when he sat outside in the dead of winter or his skin becoming uncomfortably hot beneath the summer sun as he waited well past the agreed upon afternoon? He had waited and waited and waited for Lucifer time and time again. Yet, more often than not the other left him there to rot. He knew why. He knew Lucifer had little choice in the matter. Not only had his favoritism towards him earned the ire of the other archangels, it had also been enough to attract Lucilius’s attention. The thought of which was enough to make a shiver run down his spine. It had been for his own good, yet he can’t stop himself from feeling as if he had been robbed of precious time with the one he cherished the most. He couldn’t even lie and say it didn't sting anymore. He also couldn’t lie and claim he didn’t want to know what it would feel like to return to a Lucifer who was actually waiting for him instead. To go back, briefly, to that time they had met in their shared garden when the former Supreme Primarch had been trapped between realms and had promised to wait for him, to see if he would still be there. 

Lucifer had promised he would wait, yet, in the end, he wasn’t the one who had saved him from that prison. Fingers curled into fists at his side. Lucifer wouldn’t, he had convinced himself by the time he had made his way to back over, and, yet, he would. When scarlet eyes dared to look at the expense of his frail core, Lucifer was still seated near the edge of the deck looking up at the night sky in the exact place Sandalphon had left him before getting hauled off by the Captain. He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat at the sight of Lucifer beneath one of the masts. His back pressed against smooth wood as wind licked at shimmering, white locks that seemed to absorb the gleam from the stars he was so fascinated by. Staring up at them with something like wide-eyed wonder that looked drastically out of place upon his immaculate features, but was so painfully endearing that Sandalphon couldn’t stop his core from launching directly into his gut at the other, and then it violently lurched upwards and onto his tongue when he realized, in the safety of his own head, that Lucifer had, in fact, chosen to wait for him. 

“Lucifer-sama,” his voice fractures when he calls out the other’s name, but Lucifer turns to look at him regardless. A smile gracing his lips that makes the archangel’s stomach do a summersault and then a backflip in the span it takes for him to burn the image of that relaxed, somewhat tired grin he’s met with into his memory. “You waited - I mean, thank you for waiting for me.” He tries not to let his shock and joy show as he crosses the deck to sit down beside the other. Their beach attire no longer suits the weather, but neither one had bothered to change. Sandalphon, well, hadn’t the time. Lucifer, well, he appeared to have taken Sandalphon’s request quite seriously and just, simply, hadn’t moved an inch from where he had been asked to wait. And oh that fact alone threatens to take centuries off of Sandalphon’s eternal life. 

“Of course.” He says those words so easily, as if Sandalphon hadn’t been waiting countless years for this one, simple wish of his to be granted. All while looking only at him with glossy eyes and heavy lids that threatened to close as long lashes kissed the bags that had formed beneath them, despite the fact that the sky he so adored looking at stretched out for miles all around them. “I was admiring the sky,” he continues, not giving Sandalphon time to recover from the promise that had been kept. “I’ve learned that if one gazes upon the stars long enough they begin to resemble objects, places, and people.” He seems delighted by this fact, but the joy the archangel can hear in Lucifer’s voice strikes an entirely different feeling in Sandalphon. 

It’s almost easy to forget that Lucifer lacks nearly all of his memories, not just the ones related to himself, when he still acts in much the same graceful and dignified manner as he always had. But Sandalphon still recalls the time they had gazed up at those same stars through winding branches and thick vines from the comfort of their shaded garden, and Lucifer had taken the time to painstakingly teach every last constellation to him, even the ones that could not be seen from where they were sheltered. If he couldn’t recall that, then how much of the knowledge he had once harbored had been lost alongside his memories? How many of the books he so often saw Lucifer with his nose on had been completely wiped from his head? Just how much would Lucifer be forced to suffer before he could finally be allowed to be happy without consequence? 

“Those images you see, they’re called constellations,” he begins, voice a bit uneven. He tries to recall, exactly, how Lucifer had told him about them, their meanings, and their stories. Yet, for as vivid as his own memory of that night was, he can’t recall the exact words the other had used. So, instead, his fingers begin to fiddle with the hem of his open shirt as he continues. “You taught them to me once.” 

“Did I?” Half-lidded gaze regards Sandalphon for a moment before he leans his head against the other’s shoulder with a soft plop. Pink-tinged locks splaying out over soft fabric and slipping into the dip of the archangel’s neck as a sigh flutters past his lips with enough force to make a warm breath brush against Sandalphon’s exposed skin. Something tells him he had waited many years to do just that, so instead of looking back up at the stars, his eyes are fixed entirely on the archangel. Allowing him to see the exact moment Sandalphon tenses at the sudden contact, every muscle in his body coiling until it's ready to snap, and his senseless fiddling ceases when just the faintest of whimpers he had clearly been trying to swallow manages to slip out. His cheeks are painted a pretty pink that appears as a deep ruby shade beneath the darkened skies. Lucifer can’t stop himself from thinking, once again, that Sandalphon is breathtakingly beautiful and far surpasses the blurry, yet burningly bright image of the archangel he had been gazing upon in those stars for the hours that had ticked by in his lonesome as he tried to dig through his head for information he felt, deep within his core, that should be there, but wasn’t. “I see, so there is a constellation that resembles you,” he mumbles, deep voice vibrating within his throat. 

Sandalphon inhales sharply through his nostrils, and almost chokes on his own tongue. “W-What nonsense, o-of course there’s not.” His voice cracks, and this is just a guess on his part, a good dozen times in the minute it takes for him to sputter out that miserable sentence because Lucifer is looking at him like he had once looked at the sky. He is close enough that Sandalphon can feel the rise and fall of his chest against his arm that’s stiff as board at his side. He has to remind himself to breathe, and when he does, it comes out in a strangled gasp that makes the lightest laugh tumble from Lucifer’s lips. Franky, he might have died right then and there if not for the whirl of his core or the buzz of emotions in his throat as it pulsed loudly against his chest. 

And Lucifer, oh beautiful, merciless Lucifer, reaches out to take hold of his hand and slots his fingers between Sandalphon’s before carefully lifting his palm from where it had been flat against the deck, and holds it up before them. His index finger sliding beneath Sandalphon’s to slowly coax his pointer finger out. Sandalphon is more than confident that he’s stopped breathing again, but all he can focus on is the heat pooling between his knuckles and Lucifer’s palm as he stares at their tangled fingers. “Right there,” Lucifer whispers into Sandalphon’s ear and the archangel can feel a shudder run down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold when Lucifer guides their joint fingers and traces out a pattern in the sky, connecting glittering stars until they, in his mind, form the picture perfect image of Sandalphon’s face. 

But all Sandalphon can do is squint at the confusing mass that’s been mapped out to him. Lips creasing as he tries to lean forward without disturbing Lucifer. “You’re being ridiculous,” he laughs, chest swelling with fondness as his gaze flickers back down to the other’s face. He can’t recall a time when he’s seen such a peaceful, content expression painting Lucifer’s lovely features. As if, finally, he’s not bogged down by the weight of the world and riddled with a thousand burdens he’s unwilling to share with anyone. It’s both a relief and utterly heartbreaking at the same time because Lucifer can only enjoy these moments, in part, Sandalphon believes, due to the memories he no longer has hounding him each step of the way. 

Lucifer hums in acknowledgement, inhaling against the chill of the air as he nuzzles closer to Sandalphon. The heat the other produces is enough to keep him warm for days, he imagines, and the muffled sputter that he can tell Sandalphon is trying to hide that creeps up from the other’s throat only serves to further relax him for a reason he can’t possibly explain, but accepts regardless.Yet, he knows this feeling. It had been described in one of Lyria’s journals. The exact phrasing, he thinks, was something akin to coming home for the first time. To have doors propped open for you, and freshly baked bread left out on the table that was still warm to the touch. To inhale all of the scents that put one at ease, and to know what it felt like to be valued by someone through everything they never did say. That’s what he feels whenever he’s given the chance to be alone with Sandalphon.

“Maybe, I am.” Lucifer smiles into Sandalphon’s shoulder. Grin wide enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle before he allows heavy eyelids to flutter shut. Bringing their hands down to rest in Sandalphon’s lap, he makes no effort to detangle their fingers or pull away. “But I really do see your face amongst the stars.” 

“N-Now you’re just being silly. Those stars are part of the constellation,”  _ Aquila,  _ but the name never quite leaves his lips because he can feel how Lucifer’s breathing has slowed. The rise and fall of his chest is steady where his weight is almost entirely on Sandalphon’s side now, and he can feel Lucifer slipping downwards towards his lap with each breath he takes. Slowly, the bright, rosy color fades from his cheeks and he lifts his free hand, hesitating for only a moment, to comb his calloused fingers through Lucifer’s soft, white locks, allowing the wayward strands to slide against his battered knuckles. It’s warm. So is his chest where it leans into his shoulder. So is his hand where their fingers are still loosely held together before Sandalphon subconsciously tightens his own hold around Lucifer’s. And so is his breath where it brushes against his skin. Lucifer’s core has a steady, even pulse to it that he can feel buzzing against his forearm. He can count the beats with ease when he closes his own eyes to focus on the blissful sound. Lucifer is warm. Lucifer is alive. He sucks in a breath and tries not to let that realization make the pinprick of tears he can feel forming in his eyes spill overboard. “Sleep well, Lucifer, I’ll be here waiting for you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't want to wait to upload this since I felt it best when read with the first part, so here it is! As always, my Twitter is august_ashes!


	4. Lavenders and Thorns (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandalphon needs a bath. That's it. That's the entire chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 crashed the second I finished editing this and was ready to upload it, which I feel is an accurate summary of my general levels of productivity. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read/comment/kudo! 
> 
> Twitter is: August_ashes, for anyone who wants to talk about dumb angels!

Sandalphon hasn’t slept in days. Actually, to be more exact, he hasn’t slept since Lucifer had been...  _ revived _ , for lack of a better word, which was verginging on almost a week now. And it was really starting to show in the most unflattering of ways. He had dozed off for a second while making coffee the other day, and promptly smacked his head against a cabinet resulting in a nasty bruise on his forehead that could still be seen through greasy strands of auburn locks that were completely devoid of their usual softness and natural sheen. Not to mention the fact that he’d unintentionally snapped at Lyria that morning when she had begged him to sit down, and he could still feel a nasty pit that had formed in his stomach when he had realized what he had. His own hands barely felt as if they were attached to his wrists with how sloppily they went about tasks, and his legs spent much of the day shaking as he struggled to walk in a straight line so he wouldn’t bump into anyone. When he reached up to rub at his dry eyes, his own skin felt rough beneath his calloused fingertips, and that was impressive given that they couldn’t feel much of anything thanks to centuries of fighting. That should have been his first clue that things had gotten out of hand, but it had taken his skin breaking out for the first time in decades for him to realize that he’d sunk back into bad habits developed during the time he had spent locked up in Pandemonium. Yet, even after that dawned on him, he still adamantly refused to acknowledge that his body was falling apart in new and inventive ways everyday now. 

So, with his elbow propped up on one of the glass tables in the cafe, he inhaled the brisk steam wafting up from the cup of coffee sat before him in the misguided hope that the strong scent that filled his nostrils would be enough to shock his system back into working order. It was a wasted effort. Thick lashes, weighed down by sleepless nights spent huddled up on the corner of Lucifer’s room, fluttered weakly until they brushed against the unsightly bags beneath his eyes. He’s fairly confident that those bags have started to develop bags of their own, which, really, was an awful sign. His eyes, too, were glossy, and lifeless at best, morphing them from their normally vibrant scarlet to a dull burgundy. His palm is stiff from supporting his chin where his knuckles are curled against his sunken cheek in a pitiful attempt to keep his head upright so he wouldn’t collapse against the table. The only thing keeping him from nodding off is the sharp pang of cinnamon that clung to the room from the cookies Lyria had baked earlier, but it’s strong enough that he has to wiggle his nose to prevent himself from sneezing. Even that proves too great an effort for his exhausted mind to handle, and he feels himself beginning to slump forward as his heavy eyelids slowly fall. 

“Sandalphon, are you all right?” Lucifer’s voice snaps him out of his daze, and his eyes blink back open just inches away from the piping hot cup of coffee that was his pathetic excuse for breakfast...or was it dinner. Maybe lunch. He swallows around the groan that threatens to escape his throat as he glances over at Lucifer. The taller’s hand is clamped around his bicep with enough force that Sandalphon can feel the outline of his slender fingers pressing into the creamy fabric beneath his armor, and it’s only then that he realizes Lucifer had saved him from face-planting into what would have been certain doom. This time, that groan actually escapes, and he leans back into his chair. His messy locks of brown hair tumbling in front of his face with the motion and their oily strands stick to his clammy skin. The sensation only serves to remind him that he also hasn’t bathed since Lucifer had been brought back either. Disgusting, he’s well aware, and he feels nothing short of vile when he thinks about it. Thankfully the scent of coffee had managed, he hopes, to mask most of his own body odor because Lucifer hadn’t said a single thing about it yet. Then again, maybe Lucifer was just now of the opinion that he just never washed himself in the first place. A horrifying thought really. 

“Fine,” he grumbles and he can taste the words on his tongue as vividly as he can smell the concern that radiates from Lucifer. A hardly normal thing, and he’s confident he’ll drop dead right then and there if Lucifer keeps staring at him so intently so he forces himself to continue despite the fact that he can feel his voice clinging to the depths of his throat, and it comes out sputtered and raw when chapped lips part to speak, “What were you saying?” 

Lucifer shakes his head, and Sandalphon swears he can see stars fly from those shimmering white locks of his, but when he blinks again, those same stars have vanished and he’s leaning over the table to the point where he’s now close enough to Lucifer that he can feel the gentle caress of the other’s breath against his cheeks. Much to his shock, horror, and dismay. He startles. Back rigid against the seat of his chair as he slams his spine against the worn cushion in a rushed frenzy to put distance between them once more, and he can’t stand the fact that his core aches as oxygen slowly returns to his heaving lungs because it longs for that closeness once more. 

“I had only asked if you harbor any dislike for water, but that isn’t important.” 

Sandaphon blinks at him. Weary, confused, and possibly projecting into another Skydom entirely. Lucifer had made a habit of asking him the strangest of questions when they sat down for coffee in the name of getting his memories back, but Sandalphon couldn’t stop himself from thinking the former Supreme Primarch was asking all of the wrong questions when it came to their shared past. He rarely asked about people or events or... now that Sandalphon was taking the time to actually process it, Lucifer had done nothing but ask nonsensical questions about him. His favorite color. His favorite spot on the ship. If he preferred cats or dogs. How many blankets he slept with. What his favorite food was and how preferred his coffee. His favorite people on the ship, and his lead favorite members of the crew. He could scarcely recall every question he’s answered in the past week alone, but he also can’t even remember what time of day it is at the moment so that wasn’t saying much. He found Lucifer’s curiosity endearing, and it was sailing swiftly towards adorable if he had the gall to refer to one of the, formally, most powerful beings in the skies as cute. 

Brows furrowed at the current line of inquiry; however. Was this because he hadn’t swam much at the beach thanks to Lucio sticking his unwanted neck into their conversation. “No, I -” The second he opens his mouth, now slightly more conscious than he had been before, he catches the smell of something downright rotten and his palm lifts to slap over his mouth with a loud smack. His eyes roll lazily about the cafe as if he half expects to see Katalina cooking up a storm behind them, but, aside from the two of them and the three cups of coffee before him. No, it was one cup a moment ago, he swears. He squints at the delicate porcelain in front of him until the fuzzy edges come together once more, and it morphs from three blurry cups back to one, whole cup again. But that still didn’t explain the stench of salt, iron, and cheese that was thick in the air between them. Lucifer offers him a meek smile, and he can feel his mostly empty stomach lurch upright. 

“Truth be told the Captain wished for me to discuss something with you.” Lucifer can still picture Gran’s sheepish grin, features flushed as if he were ill, when the young man had approached him a few hours ago alongside the small, crimson dragon that always seemed to be at his side. He thought very little of the request at the time, but now that he was seated across from Sandalphon and had watched as the other’s head dipped closer and closer to the mug with every labored breath he took, he was beginning to understand the Captain’s initial apprehension a bit better. 

Sandalphon gives him a little hum to acknowledge that he heard him which, frankly, was more than he’d given in the past hour so he prayed that was a good sign, so he continues, “He -  _ we _ \- are concerned for your well-being. You have not been sleeping, and you have not bathed in quite some time either. Your eating habits, I am told, have been strange as well. If something is wrong, I am more than willing to listen, Sandalphon, and if there is anything I may be able to assist you, you need only ask.” 

Sandalphon blinked. The rims of his eyes felt warm and swollen against his lashes. It took far too long for Lucifer’s words to actually settle within his own head so he could make sense of them. When he did, his lips parted to speak, but the words lodged within his throat refused to come out. So he swallowed around the lump that had formed, and lowered hand from his mouth to reach for Lucifer’s where he was still clutching his bicep to slowly peeled the other’s fingers from the damp fabric of his undershirt. “Lucifer-sama, I’m-”  _ Fine.  _ The word didn’t come out. Not when his gaze finally focussed on the former Supreme Primarch’s expression. He looked utterly despondent and downright distressed. It left him squeezing their fingers together as he brought Lucifer’s hand down to the table to, hopefully, appease the other man a bit. 

Then, as the silence that forms between them begins to feel heavy, he forces a sigh past his lips. It burns. They’re chapped from chewing on them and numb from getting burned by too many cups of boiling coffee. He can taste copper on them when he inhales through his mouth. Even Lucifer, still starry-eyed and full of wonder, knew he was lying. There was only so much guilt he could handle. Brushing off the Captain’s concern had stung enough to feel like a blade thrust through his chest. Dismissing Lyria’s may as well have been the same as a hand wrapping about his core and crushing it. Passing off Lucifer’s, well, he couldn’t. It would hurt too much. He lowered his head, staring into the lukewarm depths of his coffee. 

“I’m afraid,” Sandalphon finally croaks, and his voice is so raspy that he can feel it catch on the rough patches of his overly dry tongue. 

Lucifer’s brows furrowed in confusion, but he didn’t voice the question Sandalphon could tell he wanted to ask. His hand tightened a bit around the other’s, and he forced himself to look away from Lucifer. Choosing, instead, to focus on the sensation of the former supreme primarch’s knuckles against his palm, and the heat of his glove where it rubs against skin. It’s painfully difficult for him to speak, but Lucifer has nothing but endless patience for him. He knows because every single time his lips twitch without parting he can feel the other’s gaze soften. It helps cushion the blow a bit, but he’s always struggled to express himself. He’s always been the type to bottle things up. To throw glass shards, and clamp his mouth shut, when someone drew too close. But he can’t do that to Lucifer. Not again. His shoulders slouch, and he bites his lip hard. It bleeds, and the taste doesn’t go down easily where it stains his tongue. The seconds turn to minutes before he finally manages to dig his voice out of the depths of his throat, and it feels like sandpaper and kindling when he does.

“I’m afraid that if I close my eyes or I leave your side, you’ll disappear.” 

“Sandalphon.” Lucifer’s voice is so gentle, and full of compassion for him that it stings more than choking out that gut-wrenching admission had. 

Sandalphon looks two-thousand years younger when he meets Lucifer’s gaze this time. He’s wide-eyed and vulnerable. The dampness of his eyes brings some color back to them, and eases the exhaustion that had been present until a moment ago. Lucifer, on the other hand, looks older. The concern etched onto his features makes his forehead wrinkle every so slightly, and his lips curve downwards into a not-quite frown that’s not one because it’s apparent Lucifer is fighting to keep his expression neutral instead of devastated. Guilt rises in the pit of Sandalphon’s stomach for being the reason he looks so distraught and weak right now. He doesn’t remember anything, burdening him with this knowledge is putting too much pressure on someone who is still struggling to grasp the very concept of being alive. But he is too. He’s survived for so long that he doesn’t know what just living actually is anymore. How is he supposed to teach Lucifer what being alive entails when he can’t even imagine it? 

“I do not intend to disappear.” It doesn’t reassure him like it should. Sandalphon’s Nose wrinkles, and he looks down at the shimmering table as if it contains the answer to every problem within the skies. 

Lucifer supposed they were empty words. He imagines most people don’t intend to disappear before doing so. He doesn’t believe he wanted to... _ die _ originally either. He can’t say for certain. He doesn’t know what he was thinking or feeling at the time when he can’t even recall the events themselves, and, when he reads about them in Lyria’s journal, he feels as if he’s reading a tale straight from one of the many fictional books he has stowed away in his room rather than studying something that had happened to himself and Sandalphon.

So Lucifer tries again, this time with more vigor behind his words, “I will not disappear; however, if it will help ease your fear just a bit, I will accompany you wherever you may need.” He uncurls the loose fist that’s trapped within Sandalphon’s hold to intertwine their fingers in return to comfort the other. 

Sandalphon wants to take Lucifer’s word for it. He always wants to take Lucifer at his word, but it’s difficult to when his body still aches from days trapped in the deepest pits of Pandemonium and he still remembers how badly his core had stung when he had learned he had been created without a purpose. Or rather, the worst purpose he could have ever been tasked to uphold knowing that his own existence would only ever be capable of harboring meaning should something befall the one he loved the most. Now something had, and he’s still paying the price for his past mistakes. Thousand upon thousands of years ago it would have been so easy to leap at Lucifer’s words. Now, he hesitates, and Lucifer’s hold on his hand tightens. 

“I’m sorry, Lucifer-sama. I’m still,” he pauses to take a breath; to give his chest just a bit more time to heal before he ends up with a hole where his core is caged behind flesh and bone. “Having a difficult time accepting everything.” His free hand reaches out for the cup of coffee, a bitter smile clinging to his ruined lips as he recalls how the Captain had shamelessly chugged a cup in front of him, and discards his better judgement to do the exact same thing. Lukewarm liquid rising to his mouth, and he drinks the entire thing in one sip. Had it still been fresh there was no doubt it would have burned, but it had been sitting on the table for some time now, allowing the flavor to settle so when it stuck to the back of his throat it was sour. His lips pucker as the liquid settles in his stomach, but it does the trick and eases his worries just a bit. 

Lucifer lowers his head, his gaze pinned to their joint hands as if he’s committed some grievous crime, and any doubts Sandalphon had had a moment ago are doused, “If I have done anything at all to upset you, I apologize. I will do whatever I can to soothe your concerns.” 

“No. You’ve done nothing wrong,” Sandalphon barely lets Lucifer finish speaking before he interjects, the squeak of his chair against the floorboards loud enough that it echoes in the cafe as he rises to his feet. “You mentioned water earlier, right? Because I haven’t bathed.” He’s speaking a bit too quickly now because he can’t stand that look on the other’s face, which also means he’s not thinking about what he’s doing or what’s coming out of his mouth either. Tilting his head to the side, he lifts up his arm and takes a whiff, and regrets it immediately. He almost gags, but by some miracle he manages to get by with just a wiggle of his nose and the sting of something moist in the corners of his eyes. “Let’s do that. We should do that now.” Anything to get out of this conversation and bring a smile back onto Lucifer’s face.

Lucifer rises to his feet. That dejected look is replaced by a bright, innocent grin. “Of course, Sandalphon. I will assist you.” 

It’s only after those words leave the other’s lips that he realizes what he’s just said. Simultaneously, all of the color drains from his face before it rises once more, and is replaced by a bright pink blush. 

* * *

And that’s how he ended up sitting on a wooden stool in the middle of the bathroom with a towel draped over his lap courtesy of Gran who just so happened to see Lucifer leading him by the wrist to the bathroom while he was an incoherent, blabbing mess, and had thrown it at his head in an act of mercy. His toes wiggle nervously against the slick, auburn tile as water licks at the callouses on the soles of his feet, and he glares at the cracks in the floor while counting down the seconds to his own demise. The plip-plop of the faucet as Lucifer tested the temperature of the water on his palm echoed against the walls, but Sandalphon sincerely doubted it was loud enough to mask the horrific drum of his core where it was lodged painfully between his chest and his throat. His hand lifted from where he had been crumbling up the soft fabric of the towel to settle against the center of his chest as if that would somehow muffle the abhorrent noise. 

There’s countless things he had tried to mentally prepare himself for since Lucifer’s revival. This had, most certainly, not been one of those things. He hasn’t looked Lucifer in the eyes since the door had squeaked shut behind them. Actually, he hasn’t looked at Lucifer, at all, since he had slipped out of his armor and left it just outside of the door at the Captain’s requested so it could be thoroughly scrubbed clean of all of the grime he’d gotten on it over the past week of abuse it had received without a single polishing job. He’s not certain he can either, even if the soft hum he can just barely hear above the sound of splashing water and the obnoxious ringing in his ears tempts him to look back at the other. He recognizes the melody, it’s the song the girl in blue always sings with the dragon. The one she’d made him sing once before. It helps soothe his nerves a bit, but there’s really nothing in every Skydom combined that could stop his skin from turning the same shade of red as his eyes with every moment that passes them by. 

“Sandalphon,” Lucifer’s voice cuts off his train of thought, and his entire back goes rigid as he hears the quiet pad of footsteps coming up behind him. His fingers curl into firsts where they rest on instinct, and his shoulders are so tense his muscles ache. Had it been anyone other than Lucifer approaching him in such a manner he would have turned around and snapped by now. The feeling of vulnerability that comes with the sensation of someone standing behind him is enough to make his skin crawl, and a poorly subdued shiver runs down his spine. And of course Lucifer notices because he asks, “Is it too cold for you?”

Sandalphon shakes his head firmly, squeezing his heavy eyelids shut as tight as he can until he’s seeing distant galaxies sparking to life in the darkness that greets him as if it were an old friend. This might just end up being the longest bath he’s ever taken in his life, and that included the one he had submerged himself in when he had escaped Pandemonium. While it was probably deserved, he wasn’t confident he could make it out of this trial with his core intact. All he could do was keep his eyes shut, not look in Lucifer’s direction, and pray the other didn’t take offense to his -

“Sandalphon,” Lucifer’s curious voice snaps him out of his borderline tangent thoughts, and he whips his head around to look at the other on instinct - brown lashes fluttering upwards as his eyes open. And his core lurches into his throat. He can feel his face heat up when he catches a glimpse of the other’s delicate skin and...that’s _ it _ . Brows scrunch and lips purse as that sliver of skin vanishes beneath the soft fabric of the loose, open-chested hoodie the other had worn back on the beach and the elastic hem of the same swim trunks he donned - pulled taut by the strings to keep them from tumbling beneath his hip bones. He looked ridiculous. Who steps into a bath wearing a swimsuit? Lucifer. He snorts audibly. 

“Sandalphon? Did you hear me?” He hears Lucifer plop the bucket down beside the stool and shift to stand beside him. His focus only moves to the taller’s face when Lucifer leans in to get his attention, and that tactic works better than Sandalphon would like to admit.

“I’m sorry Lucifer-sama, I was -”  _ Staring at you  _ is not a valid excuse, he realizes as the words nearly slip from his worthless tongue, and he shifts awkwardly where he’s sitting before averting his gaze. “I’m just tired.” The back of his neck is still burning, and his tongue tastes stale where it’s lodged in his throat. He’s not exactly lying either. His eyelids feel heavy and the bags etched beneath them feel impossibly deep where they pinch his skin. Heavy enough that they fall shut as he sighs into the steamy air wafting up from the bucket of water beside his legs. 

“When we are through here, you should try to rest.” Lucifer’s voice sounds dreadfully close to his ear, enough that he can feel the other man’s breath tickle the nape of his neck, but he only has the energy to force out a noncommittal hum in response as a chill runs down his spine that has nothing to do with the temperature of the water. 

“I am going to start then, are you ready, Sandalphon? Tell me if the water is too warm or too cold.” He doesn’t need to be looking at Lucifer to hear the soft smile that tugs at his voice, and it makes his accursed core throb as he nods weakly, heavy eyelids slowly slipping shut. Rough fingers curl into tight fists against his thighs, and he tries to remember how to breathe, but it comes out in shallow, jagged heaves that make his chest ache and his lips sting. And, when he swallows, he can still taste a bit of copper on them. 

Then, in an instant, his thoughts are ripped, violently, from his head by gentle hands when he feels Lucifer’s slender fingers slowly and gingerly card through his messy, tangled hair - working out the knots that have formed with great care. Lucifer’s palms are damp from testing the water a moment ago, and it makes flyaway strands stick to his scalp, but it eases that impossible dread that had been close to consuming him, and a faint, content whine spills past his traitorous lips as he tilts his head back and leans into the other’s touch. He can’t begin to count the number of times he had once stared at those same hands back in their shared garden as Lucifer went about the motions of brewing coffee. Each step drawn-out and methodical, but done with great diligence and the gentlest of caresses. He had watched those very hands as they ground up coffee beans, and held delicate porcelain between pretty fingers. And he had wondered what it might feel like if Lucifer were to do the same to him. If he used those hands to recreate him, instead. What it would have felt like for those fingers to dance along his skin or brush through his hair. If he might, one day, be able to do the same in return despite knowing his own hands would never be capable of the delicate touch Lucifer was when they were worn and scarred and scratchy. But he could be careful, he would tell himself, when he watched those hands work. He could be gentle. If only he had the chance to be something more than another beast of burden plagued by the ghosts of war. 

He can feel the warmth that radiates naturally from Lucifer’s body against his scalp. Realizes that he’s almost leaning entirely into the other now, and his eyes fly open once more when he feels heat begin to rise to the tips of his ears, but he doesn’t have time to issue an apology before those hands retreat. Their welcomed touch leaves behind a lingering burn where they had brushed, and he mourns their loss for only a moment before he sees the rim of the bucket out of the corner of his eyes and fails to shut them as the tepid water is poured over his hair. Lips purse to keep the water from slipping down his throat, but it spills into his eyes, and his lashes flutter rapidly in a pitiful attempt to keep it out. Lucifer’s face swiftly becomes little more than a watery blob, but those hands return once more. Combing through his hair like he’s something precious that needs to be handled with great care rather than a vile creature who used to spit ichor at the very mention of the other’s name. 

It’s enough to make his knees feel weak, and his fingers slowly peel back from his palms. He can feel tiny, crescent moons etched into his skin where he had been clutching them too tightly before. But that hardly matters. Not when Lucifer’s gentle touch feels just as good as he imagined, so many times, that it might. Just this once, he wants to let himself have this. Because maybe Lucifer will never touch him again. Maybe, if his memories ever return, he’ll realize what an awful thing he had done. What a terrible person he had been, and he won’t want to touch him anymore. Maybe this will be the first and last time he’ll feel those fingers in his hair. If it is, he wants to cherish it like a man dying of dehydration who had been given a single drop of water before he finally succumbs to his miserable fate.

“Sandalphon, do you prefer strawberry, or banana? Or, perhaps, lavender? Rose is also an option, it seems.” Lucifer’s voice pulls him back out of his thoughts, and he blinks against the water in his eyes to watch the other man fiddle with a collection of bottles at his feet.

“Do I  _ what _ ?” His brain still feels hazy at best, and his voice comes out in a hoarse, husky whisper that is dreadfully unattractive and equally as embarrassing. 

Tilting his head upwards once more, he swallows thickly, and furrows his brows. His confusion only earns a soft smile from the other man before he actually rubs the water from his eyes and looks at the bottles Lucifer is debating between. The older man’s index finger is on his chin and wrinkles have formed upon his forehead. He looks as if he’s being forced to choose between never drinking coffee again or never being able to read Lyria’s journals again. 

“Where did you get all of that?” Sandalphon only sounds vaguely better this time as his nose wiggles at the collection of scents that assault it. 

“The Captain. He suggested a fainter aroma might help wash out the scent of coffee.” Lucifer, still inspecting the bottles as he holds them up before Sandalphon. “Which would you prefer? I am personally quite fond of lavender myself.” He still hasn’t looked up from the labels, and that suits Sandalphon just fine because that last statement leaves him with more questions than it does answers. 

“Lavender is fine, then.” Questions he doesn’t actually ask because he’s both too tired to care and too groggy to process the fact that he apparently smelled bad enough the Captain had decided letting Lucifer smother him in scented shampoos was their best course of action. 

“Wonderful, lean your head back for me again.” Lucifer squeezes a handful of the shampoo onto his fingers. The pleasant scent filling the steamy room, and he reaches out as Sandalphon gives a grunt in acknowledgement, soapy fingers carding through the other’s hair more thoroughly this time to wash away all of the grime that’s collected within those tangled stands in the past week of him not venturing anywhere near the bath. And he looks mighty proud of the work he’s done when Sandalphon’s brown hair becomes an impressive mass of bubbles instead of the bird’s nest it had been that morning. Slowly, Lucifer begins to rinse it all away with a grin on his face as he swallows the chuckle that vibrates in his chest at the sight. The soft texture of Sandalphon’s hair brushing against his chest as the other leans into his touch is welcomed, but he shifts so his knee is pressing softly against the small of the archangel’s back so he doesn’t tumble over where he’s seated. 

“Are you feeling any better, Sandalphon?” Lucifer pulls his hands away to grab the bucket once more, gingerly pressing his arm against the other’s head so he would lean forward on the bench before pouring water out over Sandalphon’s shoulders, earning a shudder as the other’s body adjusts to the temperature once more. There’s guilt in his voice despite how kind it sounds, and his hands glide against Sandalphon’s back, leaving behind wispy patches of soap. He had been far too absorbed in trying to learn about the crew and himself to notice how much Sandalphon was suffering. For that, he can’t help but feel he’s wronged him. Especially after promising to make new memories with him, and to learn what he can about him. To the point where he had utterly failed to notice the stress his own existence had placed on the other. His hands pause for a moment, lingering against the archangel’s shoulder blades as a frown mars his features. One Sandalphon can’t possibly hope to see from the angle he’s seated at. 

“I am.” Sandalphon tilts his head back to try to get a better view of Lucifer when he feels the other’s gaze linger on the spot where his hands have stalled, and he suddenly feels self-conscious. He knows his body is a wreck. He knows he’s covered head to toe in unsightly scars and rippled burns and popped callouses, and maybe Lucifer’s somehow just realizing how hideous he is despite seeing bits and pieces of jagged lines upon his chest at the beach. Fingers curl and uncurl in his budding anxiety before he finally pulls his voice out of the depths of his throat to fight the urge he has to curl into himself, “Lucifer-sama, are you all right?” 

He watches Lucifer’s attention shift from his back to his face, smile quickly returning to the man’s features as he withdraws his hands so he can grab the bucket once more. And Sandalphon doesn’t have the heart to tell him he should be using a sponge or a towel at the very least instead of his hands, but he would also be lying if he claimed he didn’t enjoy the newfound sensation or the patches of warmth that the other’s fingers left on his skin well after his hands had pulled away. 

“I am. However, I must apologize to you. I failed to realize how you were feeling, and have let you down. I will -” Lucifer’s lips hang open slightly, but the words die in his throat as Sandalphon’s expression morphs from concern to something akin to despair. The younger’s eyes wide as he draws his bottom lip inward to sink his canines into. The coppery taste of blood tickling his tongue as he tries to quell the ache in his core.

“Sandalphon?” And Lucifer’s voice, so full of concern and so blissfully unaware of what he’s just said, does little to dull the pain that surges through his entire body as he shakes his head in an attempt to reassure the other. It’s not Lucifer’s fault he doesn’t have his memories. If it’s anyone, it’s his. But he knows Lucifer, even this version of him, would find refute that claim.

“No, it’s nothing. You’ve just...said something along those lines in the past.” Sandalphon hangs his head down once more, releasing his lip, and the chapped skin stings against the water that clings to his face, and the soap that’s begun to slide down his cheeks from where his damp hair is plastered to his jaw. 

“Oh, I see. Forgive me, Sandalphon.” 

Oh he hates how distraught Lucifer sounds. If his chest could twist into a firm knot, it would have by now. Instead, he just shakes his head slowly, and wills a smile back onto his features in an attempt to reassure the other as Lucifer gingerly pours the water against his back once more in a rather pitiful attempt to wash away all of the suds that have gathered on his skin. 

It’s enough that all of the sleep he’s missed out on in the past week catches up to him in a violent storm, and he feels completely exhausted in the blink of an eye. His vision swims until even Lucifer’s face is little more than a spinning whirl of white and blue, and he has to lift his hand up to press his fingers against his forehead in an attempt to make it stop, but it clearly doesn’t work when the floor doesn’t cease shaking. No, that’s not the floor. He realizes belatedly when he feels Lucifer’s hands clamp about his shoulders to keep him steady, and he finally feels the buzz in his ears begin to fade ever so slowly. He swallows around the lump that forms in his throat, and his head aches terribly. Enough so that he can feel his jaw clench and the curves of his nails as they dig into his calloused palms long before he registers that he had ever made a fist. 

“Sandalphon?” Lucifer’s hold on him is firm, but careful, just like before, and it almost makes him feel sick because he doesn’t deserve to be treated with such care, especially not by Lucifer of all people. “Sandalphon.” The sound of the other’s voice as it whispers gently against his ear, and the sensation of those hands kneading against his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him only made him feel worse. How? How can Lucifer not blame him for what’s happened? No, rather, he can’t, because he doesn’t know any better. And that, too, is Sandalphon’s fault. Lucifer doesn’t even have the ability to blame or hate him. He robbed him of that choice. He can feel his lips beginning to quiver again as anger begins to flare beneath his skin. He’s always been angry. Angry with himself. Angry on Lucifer’s behalf. Angry at the world. Angry at everything right now that isn’t the other man he’d spent the better part of two thousand years cursing. 

But that anger vanishes in an instant. Burned away by the heat that sears against his back when he feels Lucifer’s arms wrap about his shoulders and pull him into a soft embrace against his chest. Shock makes him still for a long moment, breath hitching in his throat, but he finds comfort in the gentle pulse of Lucifer’s newly crafted core as it beats steadily against his back. He inhales against the sweet scent of lavender, and lowers his hand to wrap his fingers about Lucifer’s where they’re locked together around him, squeezing them for a moment just to reassure himself, for what feels like the thousandth time,that Lucifer is very much here and alive. 

“Don’t apologize,” he heaves after a moment, feeling how Lucifer’s hold rises every so slightly with each word that tumbles from his lips, and how the other’s breathing slows to match his. “I’m sorry, Lucifer-sama, I’m just tired.” 

“It’s all right. Let’s finish here, so you can rest.”

Sandalphon nods slowly, reluctant to let go, and, so he doesn’t. His hand lingers on Lucifer’s, and he loses track of the seconds that tick by as he allows himself to be comforted by the other’s embrace. 


	5. Lavenders and Thorns (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandalphon finally sleeps for the first time since Lucifer's revival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit on the intense side compared to the others, so I've listed the triggers that appear in the first part below. If you you'd like to avoid the following triggers/a heavy bit of angst, skip to the line break!
> 
> Trigger Warning: blood, delusions. There is a part that does have some, or what could be interrupted as NSFW implications because apparently Disasterphon felt like making everything more difficult. It's fairly vague, but it's there. Also, while not too awful there are a couple of gross descriptors (of wounds, for example) here and there.
> 
> The next update will mostly likely go back to usual fluff levels, but this chapter still has some after the line break!

_ Plip-plop _ comes the sound that echoes through the dark, and frigid interior of Pandemonium as the thick stench of copper rushes into Sandalphon’s burning nostrils. With a sharp inhale, he tastes its distinct bitterness upon his tongue, and feels its lukewarm caress as it slides down the back of his throat and plunges into the pit of his grumbling stomach. He could feel iron flooding his lungs until it was on the verge of making him choke, and he forced it back out with a gurgled gasp that pumped his startingly warm breath back into the icy chill of the corridor. But, still, the flavor was palatable in contrast to the salty sting of sweat and grime and filth that had him near constantly clutching his gut during the rare hours these halls would grow eerily silent. Because he knew _ that _ stench all too well. All of that muck and rubbish was his own. He could find it nothing but vile in contrast to something that didn’t belong to him. 

He grits his teeth in an attempt to keep his stomach lodged firmly where he thinks it’s supposed to be, but God only knows anymore after all of the experiments the Astrals had forced him to endure. More days than not, his entire body felt as if it was coming undone. So he flexes his stiff fingers just to prove to himself he can still feel something, scarlet eyes daring to draw downwards to gaze at his trembling palms. His hands are covered in thick, gnarled blisters that pop at even the lightest touch, and he can feel the sticky sensation of serum clinging to his skin from ones that have already met such a fate. With another wiggle of his fingertips, he could feel the weight of dirt and dried blood that was trapped beneath his chipped nails. The heaviness of it so natural to him that it felt like it had become something permanently caked into his own flesh. Something that could never be washed off no matter how many times he plunged his hands into freezing waters. He’s tried. He still tries. Even looking at them now, he could scarcely recognize them from the days he spent in that garden so long ago. They were no longer tender things. No longer was the prick of a single thorn enough to make them bleed. 

The gentle hue of the sun and the blindingly blue color of the sky couldn’t breach the thick walls of Pandemonium. It had been so long since he had seen even a fleeting glimpse of either that a part of him was convinced they were simply something his imagination had conjured up. So his dull eyes were forced to squint at his tattered hands so he could look at them. They didn’t feel like they were his. Nothing felt like it belonged to him anymore. They move when he twists his wrists and cracks his knuckles, but they feel so distant. So far away. Even as they lift, those rough fingers combing through auburn locks, overgrown strands made damp by his own sweat where they cling to his clammy cheeks and slick neck, they feel as if they belong to someone other than himself. 

So, it was easy to trick himself into believing these hands weren’t his when heavy eyelids slipped shut as the mangled pads of his fingers brush as gingerly through his matted hair as his war-stained knuckles could manage. Yet he could still feel the prick of deep bruises where they stained the skin beneath his dry eyes, and the pain was enough to make their corners water. So those hands drew downwards, carefully rubbing away the tears that licked at his skin. His touch is featherlight as it brushes along his sunken cheeks until the last one has been dashed away, and he cradles his jaw between his palms as if they might belong to a lover who would hold him tender before pressing a kiss upon his coarse and cracked lips that still reeked of blood. A breathy sigh spills past his tongue as he leans deeper into the meager warmth his own touch has to offer while his mind slowly begins to shut out the world around him, replacing it with something from his deepest dreams. Yet, even those dreams have their flaws. 

Lucifer’s hands would have been softer. They would have felt like heaven running over his sore and exhausted body. In contrast, his own felt like sandpaper where the tips of his fingers dipped beneath his hood. They would have been warmer, too. Would have felt like flames setting chipped armor and frayed clothes alight as they stroked the small of his back. Instead, his own sent a chill down his spine as they brushed against that very spot. They would have been gentler, too. Devoid of calluses unlike his own. Lucifer’s fingers had been delicate enough that the Supreme Primarch had been able to cradle a porcelain cup so softly within them that when he set it down it wouldn’t make so much as a single sound. So gentle, he wonders that, if Lucifer were to handle him like he were a fragile and well-loved thing, if the other’s touch would have been so featherlight he might have just barely been able to feel it at all. So his own hands became gentler to mimic the image his head had put on display before him. But it wasn’t enough. Lucifer’s hands would have been smoother. Would have been kinder. Would have been so full of love that they would have, without a doubt, overwhelmed him with a single touch. 

Still, Lucifer’s name clings to the tip of his tongue, and he wants to cry out for the other. It comes dangerously close to being choked out into the lonely silence all around him, but it tastes almost rotten in the back of his throat when it rushes upwards. It’s jarring enough that the haze clouding his head threatens to dissipate, and comes with the unwanted reminder that the hands touching him right now didn’t belong to Lucifer. And they would never be his. Lucifer was something holy and pure and unreachable. He was the Supreme Primarch. He was everything perfect and beautiful and good within these awful skies. So, he would never dare touch something as filthy and vile as Sandalphon. 

Why would he, after all, when he had never cared for him in the first place? But, oh, if Lucifer loved him the way he so desperately wishes he might, he would undoubtedly ruin the Supreme Primarch. Ah, he could even imagine it. Those bright, blue skies Lucifer so adored would turn an ugly crimson, and the islands he watched over would plunge deep into the abyss below until every pathetic creature left in this world would grow to despise the very being who had protected their unworthy and ungrateful lives for thousands of years. All except one. All except for him. Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful? Maybe if they did, Lucifer would have no choice but to look at him again. Maybe he would even reach out and touch him with those saintly hands of his. Maybe then, oh maybe then, Lucifer would finally come to save him from the very prison he had locked him up in. 

_ Tonight he’ll come,  _ he allows himself to dream as a trembling breath stings his sore lips. But the walls rattle with the ghastly screams of lesser beasts from the depths of this cage as they were devoured by larger monsters, and, with their cries, he would feel that dream begin to waver. Desperate, his hands fly upwards once more to cover his ears to block out their pained wails, but he can still hear a ringing within his own head. Heavy eyelids try to squeeze shut just a bit more against the hellish landscape that extends all around him until he’s seeing stars. Digging out beloved memories from the back of his mind, he begins to play the sound of Lucifer’s voice on repeat until the garden would replace reality once more. 

Grogginess finally settles in as his body slumps forward onto the frozen ground, warmth spreading out against his cheek where he falls, and wraps about his chest. The stench of copper once more threatens to choke him, but all he can taste is the bitter tang of coffee as he clings to the safety of the memories playing out behind his closed eyes. The screams grow louder as his palms press harder against his ears in order to drown them out, the jagged edges of his nails digging into his scalp until the labored cacophony of his own breathing, and the sound of Lucifer’s voice was all he could hear. And that voice was so very tender. So very gentle. He nuzzles into the fading warmth beneath him just to feel a bit closer to that voice. 

It wasn’t as warm as Lucifer should have been, but in the frozen expanse that stretches out all around him, it was as close as he might ever get. But with his eyes closed and his hands blocking out much of the distant noise, it was easy enough to pretend the meager heat licking at his cheek belonged to Lucifer. He could imagine this warmth as those brilliant, pearly wings, and what they might feel like if they were wrapped gingerly about his frigid body. Tilting his head, he burrows further into that velvety embrace until he can feel plush strands of downy tickling at his jaw. They soothed the burn that singles his chapped lips as the faintest smile slips onto his features. Settling deeper into that gentle hold, he can feel the brush of Lucifer’s armor against his back as the Supreme Primarch holds him close against his chest. The other’s sweet words brush against his ear in soft whispers that send a shudder down Sandalphon’s spine. 

He can slowly begin to feel himself drift ever close to sleep, but it doesn’t come. He hasn’t slept in countless years now. The ache that persists within his core reminds him of that. The more he presses into Lucifer’s loving hold, the more he feels himself begin to slip. He is clumsy compared to the Supreme Primarch, but Lucifer loves him regardless. Isn’t that right? Peaceful thoughts slowly begin to morph into panic and rage. The image he had deluded himself into seeing, one where they are still in that lush garden and Lucifer was holding him in his arms, begins to fade. If Lucifer loves him, why had he abandoned him? Why had he not given him a purpose? A real one.

It’s simple. Lucifer had never loved him in the first place. 

_ He’ll never come _ , he realizes. Just like that his dream shatters. The image of soft grass licking at his armor and colorful petals fluttering in the breeze around him is replaced by the dark, and frozen interior of Pandemonium. The rigidness of Lucifer’s armor against his back is nothing more than a rocky wall behind him that’s digging into his hips. As his hands fall from his ears, he’s met with the full force of the pained groans and terrified shouts that consume every nook and cranny of this godforsaken place. They swiftly replace the cold breeze and lukewarm smoke that had never been Lucifer’s gentle voice in the first place. And the warmth that seeps against his skin doesn’t belong to Lucifer’s soft wings or toned arms, but rather to the deep pool of crimson coating the otherwise frigid floor beneath him. 

Slowly he picks up his head. His hair greasy and tangled where blood clings to it, and the fiery pinprick of tears nips at the corners of his eyes once more. As reality begins to settle back in, he hears that distinct  _ plip-plop _ once again. Dreary eyes glance upwards sluggishly. He’s too tired and drained to lift his hands from where they had fallen into his lap to wipe the blood that now stains his face. It hardly matters. 

There’s no light in Pandemonium save for the shimmer that dances off of the thick crystals of ice that surround him, and even with it he still has to squint to see anything beyond his own body. His bottom lip is drawn inwards, elongated canines plunging into the tender skin until the stench of copper turned into the taste of it all over again as he tried to quiet the quake of his lungs. He can feel each breath he took as it got caught in his barren throat. In that darkness that looms above him, he can just barely see a dull, purple pulse that emits from his sword overhead. Its tip buried into the wall and the carcass of a nameless monster he could only just see the outline of. Blood from its wound and gaping mouth pour downwards, dripping onto his jaw before trickling down to the floor. 

_ He’ll never come,  _ he thinks to himself once more as his gaze lowers to glance around the chamber he’s found himself in. He’s too tired to count the bodies of the beasts he’s slain that have piled up around him. He can scarcely even recall taking their lives. By now, he’s killed hundreds if not thousands of them. He had been a fool for ever hoping Lucifer might come for him. Yet, though it was impossible to tell days apart within these walls, he knew that every dawn that struck the outside world brought with it some fleeting sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, this new day would be different. This day, Lucifer might finally appear before him again.

A low whine left his sore throat as he drew his knees against the chipped armor that covered his chest. Allowing their bumpy surface to press as hard into the metal as he could manage before he wrapped trembling arms about them in an attempt to keep his core lodged firmly in his chest. He could feel his lip trembling terribly where it was trapped. He couldn’t tell if it was from the pain of being pinned beneath his teeth or from the rush of air trying to pump his lungs full to bursting. Salty tears pour down his cheeks, smearing the gunk that clings to his cheeks, and gathering in the filthy fabric of his hood. Crying hurt more than the hole he had dug into his own lip. Even more than the cold that nipped at his face. Just like the monsters he’s killed, he’s lost count of the times he’s cried, now, over someone who would never acknowledge his existence again. 

With rough hands curling into tight fists until the ragged edges of his nails threaten to tear into the worn fabric of his gloves, he buries his face against his knees. Body shaking in the meager space he’s created for himself until he finally can’t hold back anymore. His mouth opens as a strangled sob forces its way past his bloody tongue. He can feel how his chest heaves painfully with each sordid and shallow breath that just barely escapes between the mess of tears and hoarse sobs that leave him. It’s enough to make his entire body quake until he feels as if the world around him has been flipped upside down. Salty tears mix with the sour blood from his chapped lips as they stain his tights, and he rubs his forehead against his knees as he tries, but fails to swallow his cries. 

_ Lucifer will never come for him _ . He knows now.  _ Lucifer had never loved him.  _ That, too, he’s learned.

* * *

Beneath the starlight that filters in through a window aboard the Grandcypher, the gentle and sweet scent of lavender tickles his nose until it overwhelms that nonexistent stench of iron that had clogged his lungs for what felt like centuries. Groggy eyes slowly peel open to the somewhat dusty, but smooth ceiling of his modest room. He can barely make out the details through his blurred vision, but still recognizes it with little more than the flutter of long lashes as he tries to beat back the thick tears weighing them down. With the world still spinning around him, he fishes his hand out from beneath the soft sheets that cover his body. There are more blankets wrapped up around him than he had fallen asleep with, but he doesn’t notice thanks to the chill that races down his spine as bare skin brushes against them. Drawing his bottom lip inward, he bites down hard on tender skin, and glares at his palm through water-logged eyes. The weathered calluses littering his palm stare back at him with biting cruelty, and his fingers naturally curl into a weak fist to block them out. Pressing the curves of jammed knuckles against the corners of his eyes, he flinches when he feels the chill of tears slide down his ugly hands. Nostrils flare as he tries to breathe despite the lump in his throat and the hole in his core. 

With short, labored pants, he forces his fists to uncurl just so he can shove the edge of his palm against his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing. The drum of his core is so loud in his own ears that it drowns out even the hum of the ship’s engines, and it clashes violently with the cacophony of his own shallow breaths that feel deathly out of place when compared to the quiet peace that always settles over the ship when the crew has long since fallen asleep. 

He hasn’t dreamed in more than 2,000 years. But nightmares, those he has whenever he so much as closes his eyes for even a second. By now, he’s been forced to witness his sentence in Pandemonium and Lucifer’s death more times than he could ever care to count, but the pain those memories carried with them never seemed to dull. It took every ounce of willpower he harbored to keep himself grounded in reality. The threat of slipping right back into those horrid memories looming over him as bright, splotchy flowers bloomed against the back of his eyelids from the increased pressure upon them. He’s survived countless nights like this, and he’ll survive this one, too. He knows. He hardly needs as much rest as a mortal, but these nightmares, no matter how awful they may be, are the only time he’s able to see Lucifer anymore -

_ Lucifer _ . He feels his core lunge into his throat and his eyes snap open so quickly it makes him dizzy. Had that been a dream, as well? A cruel one conjured up by his desperate heart and lonely mind. His hands rush down to grip the sheets, ready to throw them off as he sat bolt upright, legs already shifting to swing off of the mattress to confirm his worst fears.

Yet, they die nearly the moment they had begun to set in. His skin is slick with sweat as sore, puffy eyes land on the messy bed of white hair splayed out on the mattress not far from him. A soft, blush hue clinging to each strand that glittered faintly in the moonlight and illuminated the other man’s doll-like features where his chin is tucked lightly against his forearms that lean on mismatched blankets. His back hunched over in what looks like a rather painful position in the chair he was sat in beside the bed. Swallowing hard, Sandalphon grips the sheets until his knuckles go completely white and slowly, hesitantly reaches out towards those white locks. Fingers brushing against the other man’s cheek with the lightest touch he can manage. Lucifer’s skin is warm to the touch, and he can feel the gentle heat of the other’s peaceful breaths against his palm. 

Lucifer’s alive, and he’s here beside him right now. The thought alone is enough to quiet the agonized drum of his core, but it doesn’t stop the tears from cascading down his paled features as his lip quivers against his teeth. Slowly the memory of the bath comes flooding back, but anything beyond that is nothing more than an exhausted blur of various faces and of Lucifer’s voice as he had repeated words Sandalphon hadn’t quite been able to make out, and still can’t dig up from the back of his foggy mind. But he suspects, in the pit of his stomach, that Lucifer is likely the reason he was here in his room right now, and the reason behind the added weight and additional warmth he can feel covering his legs from the blankets stacked atop him. 

He leans forward slightly, pressing one hand against his chest as the other gingerly runs through Lucifer’s messy hair. A melancholic smile tries to form on his features, but he won’t release his bottom lip from where it’s pinned between his teeth. He knows that if he does, the sound of the sob he’s just barely holding back will wake not only Lucifer but likely Gran as well given that the Captain’s room is located next to his own. Instead, a muffled whine echoes in the back of his throat that sounds distinctly like Lucifer’s name as his fingers continue to comb through the former Supreme Primarch’s silky hair. Wayward strands catch on the blisters that speckle his skin, and he knows Lucifer might have found the sensation unpleasant had he been awake, but he needs to remind himself that the other is here and alive.

No, not only that. He’s here, he’s alive, and he’s waiting for him. Sandalphon’s fingers still as they reach the back of the other’s head, and he dares to lean forward, tears spilling out onto those white locks as he watches the darkened, but still distinctly blue hue of the sky paint Lucifer’s hair a thousand different shades of his favorite color. “Lucifer-sama,” he whispers ever so softly before leaning forward the rest of the way to press bruised lips against the center of the other man’s head. 

He hears the faint sigh that filters into the air before he feels Lucifer stir against his hand, and he quickly pulls away. Eyes wide with something akin to terror as Lucifer’s slowly open and he lifts his head ever so slightly from the mattress. A tired, but gentle smile forming on his lips as their gazes meet. 

“Sandalphon?” Lucifer’s voice is quiet and muddled as he sluggishly tries to blink away the last lingering ghosts of sleep that still cling to him. Back straightening just a bit as he sits up slightly in his chair, and he can feel the tug of his muscles as they protest the motion. Stiff and achy from having fallen asleep in such an awkward position. “Have you -” Yet he never finished that sentence as his hazy gaze begins to sharpen when exhaustion ebs. Instead, his brows furrow in concern that is palpable as it bleeds into the air all around him. His eyes trained on the shimmering tears staining Sandalphon’s cheeks.

“Sandalphon, is everything all right?” He’s already up from his chair before he even finishes his question, one knee on the mattress. 

“I-I’m fine,” Sandalphon chokes, and even he knows those are the least convincing ones to ever leave his mouth so he swallows around them as he brings his hands up to try to wipe away the tears still tumbling clumsily from the corners of his eyes. He can’t look at Lucifer. Not when the other’s eyes are full of such sincere and unconditional concern for him. His expression is nothing short of tender, and it threatens to break Sandalphon’s core in an entirely different manner than the nightmare that had woken him nearly had. 

The bed shifts slightly beneath him as he feels Lucifer climb up onto it, but he’s too busy trying to make himself somewhat presentable, the idea laughable at best when he’s still completely naked beneath a colorful assortment of blankets he knows belong to various members of the crew that look nothing short of absurd when they’re all piled on top of one another, to really notice the former Supreme Primarch drawing closer. At least, that is, until he feels the soft touch of Lucifer’s fingers as they wrap about his wrist and gingerly lower his hand away from his face. He inhales a sharp, but shaky breath as he tries to refocus his blurry vision on the other. And it’s a mistake, he realizes belatedly, when the backdrop of his room is now entirely blocked out by Lucifer’s face. Every shuddered breath he had gagged on until then rushed back down his throat, and, in their place, his core lurched upwards. Yet, before he could even so much as utter the other’s name Lucifer’s hand came up to cup his cheek, his thumb brushing gingerly along the swollen rims of Sandalphon’s eyes as he tries to wipe away the tears that simply refuse to stop flowing. 

A strangled hiccup bubbles up from Sandalphon’s chest as he quickly clamps a trembling palm over his own mouth in an attempt to soften the clamor of his sobs so he won’t take the rest of the crew, but no matter how hard he tries to blink away the tears he simply can’t get them to stop. Lucifer’s face, which he could just barely make out a second ago, is almost fully obscured now. Only the radiant shine from his gentle eyes and the glimmer of his hair remains, but even that is little more than a mixture of dancing lights in the fog that’s consumed his entire vision. His voice is lodged somewhere between his heart and his throat. The words he tries to speak coming out as nothing more than choked whines or thick sobs. 

He wants to tell Lucifer to stop. To tell him he’s getting his hands and gloves dirty. He doesn’t deserve the other’s attention, and knows he’s unworthy of his touch. In his exhaustion and unbridled joy following Lucifer’s revival, he’d somehow allowed himself to indulge in what he knew he would never be deserving of. He fears that if Lucifer knew of the thoughts that had raced through his mind during the time he had been locked away, the other would no doubt come to hate him for them. No, that wasn’t right. Lucifer was too kind to hate him. He never had. No matter how much he had once believed the former Supreme Primarch had abandoned him that had never once been the case. Even if Lucifer can’t recall the words he had spoken to him when they had been briefly reunited in the afterlife, he’ll always hold them dear. So, isn’t that enough? 

“Sandalphon,” Lucifer’s voice is a hushed whisper when compared to Sandalphon’s sobs, and he settles down on the bed in front of him so he can cup the smaller’s jaw within his palms to make the task he’s taken upon himself just a bit easier, his thumbs keeping at it even as those years spilled out over his nails and trickled down his knuckles until they dampened the fabric of the gloves he wore and sunk into the blankets covering Sandalphon’s lap. “Did something happen?” He sounds as if the worry he feels is so great that it pains him. 

Sandalphon feverishly shakes his head, Lucifer’s hold on him so gentle that it scarcely restricts the movement at all. His lips part and then snap shut several times against his hand, but his voice still refuses to budge. He’ll never tell Lucifer of Pandemonium, or of the hatred he had once harbored towards him. He’s aware that Lyria had left some of the more extreme details out of the stories she retold to Lucifer for his sake. It would be cruel to thrust all of his past demons onto a man who not only couldn’t remember them, but had only ever acted on his love for the skies. A man he realized, much too late, had cared just as deeply for him as he did those very skies. If Lucifer’s memories returned to him, it wouldn’t be through force-feeding the nightmares of the past to him or pushing him to remember for Sandalphon’s benefit. No, if they returned at all, he wished for it to be by Lucifer’s own will. And, if they never did, that would be all right. Those memories resided within him now, after all, and he could carry them for Lucifer for the rest of their lives if that was what the other chose. 

Yet, hadn’t he wanted this time to be different? Didn’t he want Lucifer to have the chance to be happy this time around? Yet, here he was, still allowing the same monsters he’s fought for the past two thousand years to rip and tear at his core until his insecurities have rushed to the forefront once more. Sometimes he wonders what might happen if he simply acted on his impulses around Lucifer. If he did something he’d always wanted to do, but had never had enough courage to try. In part because he had, and still does, believe himself unworthy, but the more Lucifer calls out his name in the dead of night in a voice that is becoming increasingly louder and all the more concerned until there’s little doubt in Sandalphon’s mind that Lucifer’s likely woken Gran by now, the more it makes him want to reach for Lucifer because he doesn’t have the strength to answer those call right now. 

And, so, he does. With one hand still clamped over his mouth, his other comes up. His fingers reach out to grab the back of Lucifer’s head and pull him into his shoulder as he gracelessly hurls himself against the other with enough force that he hears the bed groan loudly. A startled, but silent gasp leaves Lucifer’s lips when the other can’t find his grounding, and he can feel Lucifer’s weight fall entirely against him as he drops back down onto his knees. With just as little warning, and without giving Lucifer a chance to react, Sandalphon hurriedly buries his face into the crux of the other’s neck, his tears staining the collar of Lucifer’s shirt as he clings to the other as tightly as his stiff muscles will allow him to. 

And Lucifer, in dazed stupor, finally ceases his insistent calling of Sandalphon’s name. His eyes wide in the meager light of the moon that pours in upon their bodies while his arms are limp at his side as he tries to process what’s happened. But he doesn’t make any effort to slip out of Sandalphon’s hold. No, instead he relaxes into the other’s firm hold and slumps further against him. A breathy exhale kicks up strands of auburn hair in a combination in relief as his hands lift to wrap gently about Sandalphon’s back. Slowly, his own eyes slip shut, and he tilts his head into the other’s neck, allowing Sandalphon to sob into his hair without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More notes because I wanted the warning to be easier to see: 
> 
> I claim this fic isn't linear, but it is. I'm just trying to give myself an excuse to avoid proper plotting. 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for taking the time to read this, leave kudos, and comment. I'm incredibly grateful for it! 
> 
> Twitter: august_ashes


	6. Glass and Strings (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of a sleepless night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another chapter that ended up being super long, so I decided to divide it up into pieces again! I just finished editing this part, so I'm just going to quietly post it a bit early/before the second half! The second part of this chapter will be edited and uploaded very shortly! 
> 
> My twitter is: August_Ashes

An eerie, orange glow seeps in through the window, engulfing the floorboards and furniture like ghostly flames. They paint every inch of Sandalphon’s cluttered room in long, winding shadows that burn an angry red as they dance along the ivory sheets hanging haphazardly off of the bed. Where a number of pillows have already fallen into the darkened abyss beneath the mattress, and any that still remain have been shoved into a heap against the coffee-colored walls. The array of colors and patterns upon their soft fabrics that reflect the interests and preferences of the other crew members had been a source of comfort in the dead of night, but at dawn they suddenly look out of place. It serves as a physical reflection, in Lucifer’s eyes, to how he feels right now with his arms achingly stiff, but still wrapped gingerly about Sandalphon’s body. His shoulders had gone entirely limp what must have been hours ago, and the distinct pinprick that had once raced through his legs from sitting on them for so long had vanished ages ago. Now, his knees feel numb where they were bent awkwardly against scattered blankets, and everything below his thighs is so desensitized it no longer feels like a part of his own body.

The back of his neck stings. Even without reaching out to touch it, he can feel where jagged, lumpy marks had been etched into his delicate skin by Sandalphon’s nails. Inhaling quietly, he can still recall the burning sensation that had rushed down his spine when the other had started to claw desperately at him in an attempt to keep hold of him as he felt Sandalphon began to fade in and out of consciousness throughout the night. Right now, that feeling was little more than the meager heat and feeble weight of the blood that clings to the collar of his shirt from those meek wounds. The rest of it is just as damp from sweat and tears. It sticks tightly to his torso beneath Sandalphon’s body to the point where he can barely tell where the loose fabric ends, and the other’s skin begins. 

But he can also feel the steady rise and fall of Sandalphon’s chest against his own. Calm and gentle unlike the pained sobs that had gripped him for much of the evening. The other’s slow, tepid breaths lick at the base of his jaw, and make his cheek tickle when they brush against it. The tight hold that had left him a bit battered had loosened until Sandalphon’s arms were draped heavily over his shoulders. The archangel’s face now buried deep in the crook of his neck, which throbs from being held at the same angle for hours.Yet, the warmth of the other’s sweat-slicked hair and forehead was enough to make that ache bearable. His own fingers had never stopped their soft ministrations, even as minutes had morphed into hours and the despondent stars lingering outside of the window had slowly been consumed by sluggish tendrils of red and orange. His palms were still rubbing gently up and down Sandalphon’s back despite the fact that he can no longer feel where they connect to his wrists. Instead, all he can truly focus on is the curve of the other’s spine when his fingers brush over it, and the distinct, rough scars that nip at his hands with every movement. In the hours he’s spent stroking Sandalphon’s back, he’s yet to hit a patch of skin that feels smooth against his fingers. 

Lucifer, unlike Sandalphon, never fell back asleep. Instead, his eyelids feel as heavy as his limbs, but not nearly as heavy as his own core. The very one he can feel pulsing faintly against the gentle drum of Sandalphon’s. It’s one that brings him a fleeting sense of peace, but that sensation is easily overwhelmed by how utterly helpless he feels right now. He had believed he had already come to understand that burden in the short week that’s passed since he had awoken to the hopeful, but worried faces of Lucio and Cagliostro. It’s one that still bubbles up within his chest whenever he reads over Lyria’s journals and can gather nothing more from his own head than fuzzy images that never take any real form alongside and the lingering emotions he feels deep within himself that continue to drive him to Sandalphon’s side. He thought he had come to understand it even better when he had tried to study the expressions the archangel made around him. Sandalphon’s eyes always appear to be clouded by an unrelenting sorrow Lucifer couldn’t even hope to understand when he gazes into them, but he so desperately wants to liberate them from regardless. But he realizes, now, that he had never known helplessness like this before. At least, he thinks. 

Sandalphon needs him, but he doesn’t know how to help him, and the guilt he feels for being able to do so very little is on the verge of drowning him. And he wonders, not for the first time, if he still had his memories of their shared past, would he know how to help him? Would he know what the other needs of him at this moment, or would he feel just as lost as he is now? Has he always been this powerless? 

More than anything, he simply wants to help Sandalphon in any way he can, no matter how feeble the hands he holds him with are in the face of everything that always seems to weigh on the other. He can blame it, in part, on the pull he’s felt towards Sandalphon since he had first heard the other’s name from the lips of the blue-haired girl, but it’s more than that. The desperation he feels to be around the archangel is so great that the very thought of being parted from him is painful in a way he can’t describe, as if he’s being torn in half. As if being forced to leave Sandalphon was the same as losing himself. Even without that, though, the other has been nothing but kind towards him. Sandalphon has helped him without reward or question, and has always been near him when others seem almost hesitant at times.

_ Anything _ , he finds himself thinking. If there’s anything he can do to relieve the other’s pain, he wants to do it. Whatever it happens to be. 

He swallows around the lump he can feel beginning to form in his throat, and tries to douse the sharp pain that echoes through his core by pulling Sandalphon closer to him. His slender arms wrap about the other’s muscular back until he’s holding him tightly against himself. The sharp edges of the scars that seem to cover every inch of the other’s skin catch the thin fabric of the dark gloves he wears. Even feeling them hurts him in ways he doesn’t quite understand, and it makes him think back to how he had to physically bite his own tongue when had been gingerly washing the other’s back to stop himself from mourning at the sight of them then. Yet, it makes him want to lean his head between Sandalphon’s shoulders, and gingerly run his fingers down each and every one of them until, maybe, they feel just a bit smoother against his palms. Maybe, in all of his wishful thinking, that will somehow alleviate the pain the other is in right now. 

His hold tightens a bit more as one hand trails up the other’s spine until it can press softly against tangled, auburn locks in an attempt to shield Sandalphon’s face further from the sunlight trickling into the room that warms his back. “Forgive me, Sandalphon.” His voice is so quiet those words are little more than a whisper compared to the wind that licks at the hull of the ship and the soft clicks of doors in the hall just outside of their own, but the tickle of his breath as it brushes against Sandalphon’s cheek is enough to make a soft groan leave the other’s lips that sends a panicked jolt through Lucifer’s entire body.

“Sandalphon.” He doesn’t get the chance to say anything more than the other’s name before he feels the archangel stir within his hold. The hand resting atop the other’s head falls down to Sandalphon’s back as he feels the other slowly begin to lift his head from his shoulder. His own head tilts slightly to meet the other’s bleary-eyed gaze while fighting back his own exhaustion to will a gentle smile onto his rosy lips. 

Sandalphon’s eyes are swollen, bloodshot, and distant. They hold his own as if they’re peering deep inside of his soul, but not truly looking at him. It makes him suspect Sandalphon isn’t truly awake just yet. It makes him want to reach out and gingerly cover them with his palm to grant them just a bit more rest from the world as a whole, but he forces himself to resist that urge. Choosing, instead, to simply whisper, “Good morning.”

“Lucifer-sama?” Sandalphon’s voice sounds dazed, and almost confused as it reaches him. Lucifer can feel the heat of his name against his neck, and loosens his grip when the other pushes up against his shoulders with his forearms. Sandalphon’s head slowly lifts up from the comfort of Lucifer’s neck. Auburn lashes are still dewy, and Lucifer can see the confusion swimming within his brilliant, scarlet eyes. “I -” Sandalphon starts, and then stops once more. 

“Good morning, Sandalphon,” Lucifer repeats once more, his smile no less warm as he looks up at the other. Though his hold has loosened, he continues the mindless tracing of his fingers up and down the archangel’s back to help ease any lingering aches the other might still feel from having fallen asleep in a position he imagines is uncomfortable. 

“Good morning?” The question comes out alongside a muffled yawn that makes Sandalphon’s entire body shiver against his gentle hold. 

“How are you feeling?” He speaks in a hushed, almost lazy manner to give Sandalphon’s sleep-kissed mind time to process what he’s saying. Yet, compared to a few hours ago, the other’s dazzled expression as he scrunches his brows and purses his chapped, dry lips in thought is a welcomed sight that eases a bit of the ache Lucifer feels swelling within his own chest. The other’s voice is still hoarse from the sobs that had wracked his body last night, and he wishes there was something he could do to help soothe the barren taste that must be lodged in Sandalphon's throat at the moment. Wishing, it seems, is all he’s done since he had woken up in that room, and he wonders if he used to wish often in the tales he’s heard from the other crew members. But he shakes his head lightly to rid himself of the thought. He doesn’t want to spend their time together wishing to help the other instead of actually trying to, even if he’s not certain what he should do. 

“How am I -” Sandalphon’s speech is sluggish as he lifts one of his hands from Lucifer’s shoulder to rub at his strained eyes with the rough pads of his fingers. The archangel blinks back the tears clinging to his lashes. Finally willing away the dizzying blur that had made Lucifer little more than a mass of white and black against the backdrop of his room. Allowing the former Supreme Primarch to fully come into view alongside the mass of blankets and pillows strewn all about him, and the fiery color of the sky at sunrise as it bleeds in through the large, circular window beside the headrest of his bed. And, oh, then it all comes rushing back to him in a manner that feels much like the Grandcypher had when it had plunged its bowsprit into his back. Sandalphon’s breath spills out of his throbbing lungs in much the same way it had then, and his eyes widen as he feels a rush of heat climbing to the back of his bare neck. 

“L-Lucifer-sama, did you -” Sandalphon’s choking on his own tongue before he can even finish those words. As he finally registers the heat of Lucifer’s hands as they roam gently about his skin, he feels a chill race down his spine. The former Supreme Primarch’s palms feel like velvet where they glide along his scars, and Sandalphon finds himself having to swallow around the thick lump that forms in his throat because he can’t stop himself from noticing how those hands feel just like he had always dreamt they would. 

“Yes, Sandalphon?” Lucifer’s inquiry is so dreadfully innocent that Sandalphon is not certain if it makes him feel marginally better or significantly worse. But he does know that Lucifer’s looking directly at him with a mixture of wonder, concern and affection, making the doubts that creep into the back of his mind seem inane at best when compared to the former Supreme Primarch’s voice. So allows himself this chance to release a trembling breath as he relaxes once more onto his knees. His hand begins to move downward to pull away from Lucifer’s shoulder, but instead, it simply pauses against that strip of skin that’s left exposed between the taut fabric of his bodysuit and the golden trim of his gloves. It’s a selfish motion, he knows, but he allows him to have it, giving the other’s forearm a reassuring squeeze just so he can feel the warmth that radiates from Lucifer’s skin against his calloused palm. 

“No, it’s nothing.” Sandalphon inhales, the coarse pad of his thumb slowly begins to trace circles against Lucifer’s skin as he leans a bit more into the other’s touch, allowing it to chase away the anxiety that’s on the tip of his tongue. It’s not enough to quell his doubts entirely, but he’s tired. He’s so very tired, and he simply can’t bring himself to focus on the demons rampaging within his head that try to remind him he’s wholly unworthy of Lucifer’s compassion. And he knows he is. Oh, how he knows he is when that nightmare is still nipping at the back of his foggy mind, but oh how he’s always dreamt of sitting with the other like this. To be able to simply enjoy the comfort of his touch and bask in the wealth of his presence. “Lucifer-sama, thank you.”

Lucifer shakes his head softly, one of his hands retreating to place it gingerly over Sandalphon’s knuckles where he feels the squeeze of the other’s fingers about his bicep. “You’ve nothing to thank me for.” There’s a heaviness to his voice as he glances downwards at their hands. That touch brings his confused and tormented mind solace. Truthfully, since the moment he had first reached out to the other, he’s found Sandalphon’s closeness to be nothing but comforting. 

“No, I do. I have so much to thank you for that I never did before. And, for last night as well. You didn’t have to stay like this, but you did, and, for that, I can’t thank you enough.” He has to clear his throat halfway through to gather up enough strength in his lungs to force out the remainder of his words as he shifts upon the bed. Moving his stiff legs out from beneath himself while allowing the hand he had been using to wipe at his swollen eyes to come down to rest upon Lucifer’s thigh where it’s hidden beneath the tangle of sheets that’s just barely covering his own. 

Lucifer feels his hand unintentionally tighten about Sandalphon’s, and his smile wavers ever so slightly until it threatens to dip into a pained frown. He forces his quivering lips to remain steady with great effort. Sandalphon has more than enough on his mind without being subjected to his own troublesome thoughts, but he can’t stop himself from believing that he’s not done nearly enough to earn the other’s gratitude. The guilt weighing down on him until his glossy lips part to give voice to his innermost feelings.

“No, I haven’t done -” Lucifer’s protest dies in his throat as he feels Sandalphon’s palm press firmly down against his thigh. The rustle of sheets echoes through the small room as the other shifts closer to him, and Lucifer feels his breath stall upon his tongue as he stares into the depths of Sandalphon’s scarlet eyes until they close, obscuring his rises from view. But the sight still burns itself into his mind as he feels the gentle brush of Sandalphon’s chapped lips against his forehead. The contact is fleeting, but the ghost of that kiss lingers upon his skin, and the heat of the other’s mouth against his forehead clings far longer than he knows it logically should have. It makes his throat feel dry, and he swears he can taste the sweet flavor of his own heart upon his tongue. 

“You have.” Sandalphon squeezes his thigh before he pulls his hand away, and leaves Lucifer longing for its warmth upon his skin once more. “You have, Lucifer-sama.” He doesn’t want Sandalphon to let go of him, but he doesn’t know how to ask him to stay for a while longer as the other slips out of his hold, and he hears the soles of the Supreme Primarch’s worn feet scrap against the worn floorboards of the ship. The loss of Sandalphon’s warmth against him leaves Lucifer feeling cold, and terribly lonely. 

“I have to get the cafe ready, and you should try to get a bit more rest.” The smile that flickers onto Sandalphon’s features is melancholic at best. It leaves Lucifer feeling breathless and hurting. His smooth fingers clutch at the sheets that had fallen from the other’s legs when he had gotten up, and he finds himself wanting to reach out and grab hold of Sandalphon’s hand before he can slip out of reach, but he can’t bring himself to do so when he’s done so little for the other while the archangel has done everything for him. 

“Sandalphon,” Lucifer inhales around the taste of the other’s name in his throat. Somehow he can still feel the heat where that weak kiss had been placed as he slips out of the bed behind him. His feet barely make a sound as they fall onto the floor while his hands run down the front of his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles that had formed upon it, and to try to pat out some of the dampness that still stains it. “Is there anything I can do to help you?” He doesn’t take a step forward, not wanting to get in the other’s way as he watches Sandalphon rummage through the modest closet in the far corner of the room. His brows furrow at the chips that line the furniture’s side, and the deep, uneven scars that have been etched into the surface of its wooden doors. 

Sandalphon is in the middle of haphazardly tugging on a pair of dark pants over the boxers he had unearthed from one of the messy drawers, when he cranes his neck back to look at Lucifer. Sandalphon’s hair is still a mess. Curly locks of auburn poking up in every direction, and they bounce with every movement the other makes. His eyes are still puffy and swollen from crying, and Lucifer can make out how his eyelids are tinged with red. But the sorrowful smile that had painted Sandalphon’s lips a moment ago is now far softer, and much gentler. It’s enough to make Lucifer’s core flutter within his chest, and his hand absentmindedly lifts to press his palm against it. The beat of his heart sporadic and swift against his fingers. He finds that expression utterly breathtaking as the golden glare of the morning skies strikes Sandalphon’s face, and seems to make him shine. 

“No, I’m all right,” Sandalphon offers as his head vanishes once more into the darkness of his wardrobe. Lips pursed as he fiddles around with the handful of clothing he has stored away in it, and he has to fight back another frown when his palm collides with the steel of his worn armor where it sits on the bottom shelf. It feels cold to the touch, and he can feel the slightest droplets of water on it. He can still recall Lucifer handing it off to Gran before they had headed into the bath, and realizes the Captain must have cleaned, washed, and returned it while he had still been sleeping. He breathes a shaking sigh as his eyes roam over the various dents, cracks, and marks that litter it before he tears his attention from it once more to fish through the much smaller shelves to find the shirt he had been looking for. When his hands trace over soft, but pilled fabric, and yanks out a gray and black striped shirt from the depths of his closet. With about as much grace as he had used to pull his pants on, he shoves the shirt over his head, and pushes his arms through the three-quarter length sleeves. 

He doesn’t bother to shake or smooth out the wrinkles that litter the fabric. He can’t when he can feel the thin strings holding up his core being pulled taut by the worried gaze he feels from Lucifer. The one that nearly manages to burn a hole into his back, and his own heart has to recover from the feeling of Lucifer’s glass-like skin against his lips or the memory of the nightmare that remains potent in the back of his mind. Still, he tries to smile at the other as he plops down on the floor to grab the nearby pair of shoes. His ears flush slightly when he realizes they’re much too large for his feet, and their soles are flat unlike the heeled ones he always wears. He carefully pushes it off with his other foot upon realizing they’re Lucifer’s, or rather, they’re actually Lucio’s. Unfortunately, much of Lucifer’s wardrobe still consists of the things Lucio had lent him, despite the fact that they don’t fit him perfectly by any means. Lucifer’s frame is thinner than the other’s now, so most of those borrowed clothes are loose and baggy on him. It’s well past the time that they found Lucifer clothes of his own, but the thought hadn’t occurred to him until just now. Likely because his head is so overrun with thoughts at the moment. 

“Are you certain?” Lucifer asks, his voice a bit softer this time as he leans down quietly to collect the blankets and pillows that had fallen onto the ground in order to settle them neatly back onto the bed. Watching as Sandalphon finishes tugging on his shoes, and stands once more. Those rough fingers of his grabbing hold of the blue apron hung on the back of the door, and slipping it over his head. 

“Just focus on resting for now.” Sandalphon quickly ties the strings of his apron into a messy knot behind his back. His hands shaking the entire time, and he’s terrified Lucifer might be able to pick up on the rushed, shallow clamor of his own breathing. He doesn’t want to worry the other, but he needs a moment to collect himself. To have time to process everything he’s feeling at the moment, and to calm the clatter of his own core within his chest. Tapping the tip of his shoe against the floor, he heads for the door. 

“Very well,” Lucifer finally concedes, a hint of something akin to sorrow lacing his voice as he watches Sandalphon slip out from the room. The door clicks shut behind him to reveal jagged scars that litter the back of it. Ones that aren’t unlike the few he had spotted on the wardrobe door a moment ago. They almost appear as if they had been clawed into the polished wood by a panicked, and cornered beast. Lucifer’s gaze lingers on them for a long moment, his core tumbling back down to the depths of his stomach as his fingers curl tightly against his chest. He’s not certain why, but his heart hurts. 


	7. Glass and Strings (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyria and Lucifer make coffee for Gran and Sandalphon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second part of this behemoth of a chapter! As always, thank you so much for leaving kudos, comments, and taking the time to read this fic. It means a lot to me! I hope you enjoy this two-part update!
> 
> Twitter: [August_Ashes](https://twitter.com/august_ashes)

Lucifer hasn’t moved for what feels like an eternity to the blue haired girl as she peeks her head into the kitchen as discreetly as she can manage. His index finger is curled against his chin, and his brows have knitted together so tightly that little wrinkles have begun to blossom upon his otherwise flawlessly smooth skin. Even his breathing seems tense. The rise and fall of his chest almost calculated, and she can occasionally hear him hum or mumble softly to himself. His palm muffles his gentle voice where it’s pressed so she can’t quite make out any of the words that leave his mouth even when she climbs onto the very tips of her toes to try to catch a vague whisper. But she can see what his eyes are locked onto from where she stands behind the door frame. Upon one of the many long, wooden tables that take up the front half of the kitchen where the crew typically gathers to eat dinner together, Lucifer has laid out various supplies she knows must belong to Sandalphon because she’s seen the archangel use them countless times before when he would sometimes let her watch him make coffee early in the morning. A bag of beans, the coffee grinder, a set of cups, a pot of water she can see waves of steam rolling off of, and a jar of cinnamon sit amongst the trinkets the former Supreme Primarch has collected on that well-loved surface. 

Bent slightly over the table with the morning sun licking at his fair locks with a determined expression painting his features, and a set of loose clothes Lucio had given him. She recognizes them because it’s one of the many black, sleeveless undershirts she always sees the other man wear beneath his armor. It’s usually taut across Lucio’s frame, but on Lucifer it’s a bit loose, as are the black pants he sports. Both are tucked beneath a light, blue apron that doesn’t match them at all. It’s one she’s fairly confident she’s seen Sandalphon wear when his usual cafe attire is in the wash. Seeing him mulling over the art of making coffee really does remind her of the Supreme Primarch she’s gotten to know. It does make her wonder why he isn’t with the other right now. She had yet to see the two apart since they had first informed Sandalphon of Lucifer’s revival, and she can’t help her lips from rubbing together nervously at the idea that the pair could have had a falling out while she hadn’t been paying attention. So she leans a bit more into the kitchen to try to get a better idea as to what Lucifer’s up to, but her curiosity quickly gets the better of her. Each quiet shuffle of her feet against the floorboards brings her further and further away from the frame until she’s leaning so far into the kitchen that her hands slips away from the door, and she stumbles gracelessly over the threshold. Her feet tumble clumsily over one another as she extends her thin arms out on either side of herself to maintain her already questionable balance. A muted sigh of relief flutters from her lips as she narrowly avoids falling flat on her face. 

“Lyria?” Lucifer finally lifts his head from the supplies, chin tilting slightly as he meets her gaze. Whatever trance he had been in a moment ago is shattered by the concerned frown that now muddles his pretty face. Without hesitation, he steps out from behind the table to gingerly capture her flailing arms in his hands to help steady her. Hisfingers long enough that they wrap entirely about frail forearms, but his touch is so featherlight that she can barely feel it at all. “Are you all right?”

“I’m Okay!” She’s quick to chirp, a sheepish grin spilling out onto her lips. He releases his hold on her once he’s certain she’s steady on her feet, and won’t fall. Her silky, blue locks are in a state of utter disarray, and she raises her fingers to comb through. Her efforts, though, seem to do more harm than good. “I’m sorry, Lucifer, I didn’t mean to bother you. Um, can I ask what you’re doing?” 

He shakes his head lightly, a soft smile easily replacing his worried frown. “You have not disturbed me at all.” Yet, while he reassures her, his brows still remain furrowed, and he’s nearly whisked away by his thoughts once more when he turns back to the mess he’s made on the table. “Truth be told, I would like to make a cup of coffee for Sandalphon. I have seen him both drink, and make it rather frequently this past week, but I cannot seem to figure out how to recreate it.” There’s a hint of desperation in his expression that’s reflected in his earnest desire, one that even Lyria is able to pick up on. He wants to do something for Sandalphon, even if just this once. 

Since his revival, the other hasn’t left his side or refused his requests, yet he feels as if he’s done nothing in return. And though Sandalphon had reassured him everything was fine this morning, he’ll never be able to rid himself of the image of the other’s face distorted in agony as he sobbed into his shoulder. Watching the archangel struggle had made him feel so utterly helpless. It left him with an ache in his core that wouldn’t budge or lessen, even long after the night had turned to morning. The memory of how disoriented Sandalphon had been when he awake was still fresh, as was that sad smile that had hurt more than the sound of the other’s sobs. He had spent half an hour pacing back and forth in Sandalphon’s room after he had left, hoping to come up with an idea that might help the other. This was all he had been able to come up with. But anything was fine. Something was better than nothing. He hopes.

“For Sandalphon?” Lyria’s voice is tinged with a profound sadness that escapes him when it’s quickly replaced by a cheerful grin as she hops over to him and grasps his hand within her own. “I think that would make him really happy. I’ve watched Sandalphon make coffee before, so I’ll teach you how it’s done, okay?” She doesn’t even give him time to offer a proper response before she’s gingerly tugging on his hand to lead him back to the table. 

“You will?” Lucifer’s eyes light up at her offer, something akin to wonder swimming in their brilliant blue as he follows after her. Not a hint of resistance in his steps as he allows himself to be gently tugged back towards his makeshift workstation “You have my gratitude, Lyria.” 

She can hear the relief in his voice so she quickly shakes her head. “Gran taught me that it’s important to help our friends out when they need it, so you don’t need to thank me,” she giggles lightly, releasing his hand from her hold. The smile she offers him is utterly radiant. He’s not unlike Sandalphon in how he reminds of the days she had spent locked away from the world without a single dream to call her own, and how Katalina had been her shining star in the darkest parts of her life. She thinks, to Lucifer, Sandalphon is something similar, and, in return, she also gets the impression that’s how the Supreme Primarch views Lucifer as well. It makes her want to help both of them reforge the bond they once had. 

Lucifer’s smile softens. “You consider me a friend?” He can’t stop himself from asking. Not when he’s still trying to figure out his place amongst the large crew, and struggling to understand the constant wave of emotions that threatens to drown him whenever he’s alone with Sandalphon. Somehow, though, her words put him at ease.

“Of course!” There’s no hesitation or delay in her answer, and he finds something swept up by her momentum. A friend. He wonders if she’s the first one he’s ever had. Or would that title go to Sandalphon? It doesn’t quite suit the other. Friends are important, of course, he’s learned that much from listening to the banter of the crew, but, to him, Sandalphon is something even more precious. 

“It makes me glad to hear that. Thank you, Lyria. I consider you a friend as well.” His attention lowers to the supplies on the table. Newfound resolve making him all the more enthusiastic to try again. “I will entrust the task of teaching me how to make coffee to you, then.” 

Lyria puffs out her checks in determination, offering him a confident smile as she turns to the supplies. Her arms lift, and her fingers roll into clenched fists. “Hehe, I won’t let you down, Lucifer.” She can feel his curious, yet equally determined gaze burning a hole into the coffee beans that he’s laid out on the table as if he half expects them to spontaneously burst into the perfect cup with little more than a simple push in the right direction. She can’t stop herself from hoping the same when she feels a bit of her own confidence begins to dwindle when she realizes that, while she’s watched Sandalphon make coffee before, she didn’t actually know that much about the process herself. 

But she made a promise, and she refuses to break it. Inhaling against the rich scent of the beans to mentally prepare herself for the task at hand, she unclenches her fits. “Okay, I’ve seen Sandalphon do these plenty of times before so I know I’ll be able to recreate it.” The words are spoken more to herself than to Lucifer as she reaches out to grab the already heated pot of water, but her frail arms tremble when she tries to lift it, lips pursing tightly as she tries to conjure up all the strength she had in her petite body. Only to feel the weight of that pot decrease rapidly when a set of larger, but slender hands reach out to take hold of the handles, and Lucifer gingerly hoists it up from the sink without a word. 

“I have utmost faith in your ability.” He keeps the pot held carefully by the handles, the steam that pours off of it moistening his skin.

Another giggle, and she feels all of the tension eb from her body. Confidence returning to her. “Thank you, Lucifer.” With renewed vigor, she turns back to the table. “If I remember correctly, all we need to do is grind up the beans and then pour hot water onto them. So just follow my lead, and you’ll have a cup of coffee for Sandalphon in no time.” 

* * *

A delicate cup with steam wafting from the dark liquid swaying gently against its rim is held carefully within Lucifer’s gloved hands as he follows slowly behind Lyria. The scent of coffee is thick in the air of the narrow hallways that link together most of the rooms aboard the ship. The soles of his shoes click softly against the polished wood as he tries to keep Lyria’s flowing, blue hair and the ruffle of her dress in view as he walks so he doesn’t lose sight of her. 

He’s long since memorized how to get to the cafe, but somehow finds his mind blanking now that he’s staring into the depths of the drink they’d made together. Focusing on delivering it safely to Sandalphon without allowing a single drop to spill from it. He’s probably putting far too much effort into it given that he moves with such grace that the small saucer the cup is balanced on hasn’t even rattled once despite how he can hear the clamor coming from the one Lyria is holding onto firmly with one hand while her other swings at her side as she joyfully skips down the hall. Above the clatter her feet make as she moves, he can hear her humming an upbeat song, and he can’t stop his lips from turning upwards at it. Listening to it, he finds, helps ease a bit of the weight he feels upon his shoulders. 

Slowly, his gaze lifts from that precious cup in his hands when he realizes they’re nearing the cafe, and he just barely manages to come to a halt before bumping into Lyria as she stops beside the open door. Watching her while she quietly peeks her head in, and follows suit, leaning over her so he can look inside as well. The closely tied strings of his apron fall over the young girl’s back, and his height means he dwarfs her as he mimics her motion. But neither one seems to take notice as their attention dances across the various tables and chairs taking up most of the space to find their intended targets. Both of them breathe out an audible sigh of relief when they spot Gran and Sandalphon sitting across from one another at the table closest to the counter.

There’s a stack of freshly washed mugs stacked on the sink behind the counter, but the normally potent smell of coffee is devoid from the room. Instead, all that remains of it is a linger, but pleasant aroma that just barely manages to outpace the scent of soap. The cups still appear wet, droplets clinging to their rims that shimmer against the sunlight flooding from the large, circular window behind them, and the bottom of the dish rack is clearly still damp. It appears they’re in luck, and neither of their planned recipients has had coffee yet today. 

With Gran’s back to them, Lucifer can’t quite make out the expression that’s painted across his features as his hands move in motions he can only just barely read from where they’re standing. Having grown accustomed to the other’s language rather quickly thanks to the books he borrowed from the crew. Sandalphon; however, lifts his tired eyes from the Captain’s person to look over at them. The puffy bruises beneath them wrinkling as a brow lifts, earning sheepish smiles from the pair as they step into the cafe together. 

Yet, Lucifer finds himself at a loss for words when his gaze meets Sandalphon’s. His slightly parted lips close once more, and his index fingers rub idly against the smooth porcelain of the cup he’s cradling in his hands. The heat of the drink within it warms the tips of his digits as he lowers his head. His tongue begins to feel dry where it rests in his mouth. There’s so much he wants to say, but none of it feels right. 

“Good morning,” Lyria’s pleasant voice rings through the cafe when she seems to sense Lucifer’s hesitation, reaching out with her petite hands to grab hold of his wrist and gently tug him over to the table where Gran and Sandalphon are seated. Her greeting earns a bright grin and firm nod from the captain as he turns to face them. 

“Lucifer-sama, Lyria...good morning,” Sandalphon manages to force out. A faint dusting of pink spreads out across his cheeks. One that earns him a furrowed look from Gran that he chooses to pointedly ignore given the countless questions the other’s hurled at him since he sat down. Though, those questions are quickly forgotten when his words are enough to bring that gentle smile back onto Lucifer’s face, but he’s not quite distracted enough to completely dismiss the cups the pair has, or the rather promident smell they give off. Try as he might, he can still feel his nose wiggle slightly at the aroma that spills out from them.

“We made you both coffee, we hope you’ll try it!” Without hesitation, Lyria bounds over to Gran’s side, pulling Lucifer along behind her. Without missing a beat, she gleefully places the cup she had made in front of the captain with a quiet plop. Infected by her enthusiasm, Lucifer slips his hand from her hold, and moves to stand beside Sandalphon. Mimicking her gesture with a slight bow as he places his own cup in front of Sandalphon without making a single sound. 

_‘You two made coffee? Did Lucifer teach you, Lyria?’_ Gran tears his gaze away from the somewhat murky liquid contained in the cup he’d been given to sign to her. He does his best to keep his own hesitation down, but even he can’t stop his lips from wrinkling slightly at the smell. It’s not bad, but it does seem significantly more intense than when Sandalphon makes it. It’s strong enough that he can taste the beans used to make it in his nostrils when he breathes. 

Lyria shakes her head, the smile she offers Sandalphon is apologetic. “No, but I’ve seen Sandalphon make it many times before, so I taught Lucifer how to make it.” 

Sandalphon takes a deep breath, his hands wrapping a bit too tightly about the cup as he stares into it. He can see the outline of beans that hadn’t been ground down properly beneath the dark liquid and steam that kisses his lips. He tries to keep his expression neutral, but he can’t stop the hint of pain that flashes through his eyes. “Is that so?” He asks, swallowing around the thick lump that’s lodged itself in his throat. A part of him had been prepared to learn that Lucifer’s memory loss wasn’t strictly related to events and people, but seeing it unhold firsthand right before him left him feeling as if someone had plunged a knife directly into his core. He would know. The researchers had done that much, and more to him back in the days he had spent being experimented upon alongside countless others. 

But he doesn’t want to make the former Supreme Primarch feel guilty, so he collects his thoughts to the best of his ability. “Lucifer-sama, you...you don’t remember how to make coffee?” Oh, he almost heaves at the question as it leaves his mouth, and he has to actively stop himself from gripping that cup tighter so he doesn’t shatter it, and destroy all of Lucifer’s hard work. 

“Forgive me, Sandalphon.” Something about the other’s expression tugs at his core, and he can feel his own begin to falter once more. “I’m -”

Sandalphon firmly shakes his head, gaze flickering over to Gran for a brief moment before he holds his breath, and lifts that piping hot cup to his lips. With a muffled groan at the heat that touches his skin, he chugs it down painfully. The flavor is next to non-existent, or rather, it’s so bitter that it burns his tongue and throat on the way down to the point where the only feeling that’s left behind in his mouth is the distinct taste of muddy water. One that he recalls vividly from the first time Lucifer had ever made coffee for him. And he nearly chokes on it, his hand coming up to form a fist that he smacks gracelessly against his chest to dull the heat searing his lungs. He feels the familiar prick of lukewarm tears at the corners of his eyes. His lips pursing tightly to stop himself from coughing the vile drink back up as it plummets unceremoniously into the pit of his aching stomach. 

“Sandalphon,” Lucifer’s worried, and startled voice echoes out as he places a firm palm against the other’s shoulder as if doing so would somehow help steady him, and ease any of the burns the other must have gotten on his tongue from drinking it so quickly.

Gran flashes the Supreme Primarch a knowing grin before he follows suit. His own hands tremble as he lifts Lyria’s cup to his lips and downs the entire thing in one breath. But he hasn’t had the two-thousand years of experience Sandalphon did when it came to taste-testing Lucifer’s first thousand or so cups of coffee, and he can’t stop himself from choking on the dreadfully bitter liquid. With a pained grunt, he slams the empty cup back down onto the table. Tears already stain his flushed cheeks as he mimics Sandalphon by smacking a fist against his own chest in an attempt to relieve his heart from the burn that nipped at it. Nostrils flaring as he meets the smirk that forms on Sandalphon’s features. The other having already recovered from his own cup flawlessly. Setting his mug down with a soft click Sandalphon’s expression slowly evens out, and an overwhelming feeling of pride bubbles up from his gut. One he has no right to have given that experience is the only reason he didn’t keel over from the taste. 

“Gran!” Lyria’s voice almost manages to mimic Lucifer’s as she calls the Captain’s name, hunching over him as he collapses against the table. Her hands pressing against his back in an attempt to shake him to life once more. Her desperate attempts only earn her a pained smile as Gran rolls his head in her direction, and weakly lifts up his hand to give her a shaky thumbs up. 

“It appears he enjoyed it,” Lucifer offers, a smile returning to his features as Lyria relaxes. Her hand is splayed against her chest as she breathes out a giddy laugh having earned Gran’s approval. Lucifer’s own attention turns quickly to Sandalphon, the faint shimmer of eagerness swimming his eyes as he awaits the archangel’s verdict. 

“I-It’s delicious,” Sandalphon manages to cough out as rolls his shoulders to ease the tension that had built up in his muscles from stomaching the god awful flavor of that drink, but all of the cups he’d endured only for Lucifer to perfect coffee seem worth it when he notices how blissfully joyous those simple words make the other. Slowly, the dread he had felt earlier begins to fade from his body. So long as Lucifer is happy, it doesn’t matter whether or not he possesses the Millenia-worth of knowledge he once had. He has more than enough time to relearn whatever he desires. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Lucifer’s fingers curl ever so slightly against Sandalphon’s shoulder where his hand was resting, unconsciously rubbing at the space between the archangel’s shoulder blades. “There is still a bit left in the pot, I’ll pour you another cup.” His voice is an octave higher in his unbridled joy as he reaches out to pick up the cup and saucer in front of Sandalphon. His palm pulls away from the soft fabric of the other’s shirt that had bunched up beneath his touch so he can slide it carefully beneath the mug.

“O-Of course, thank you, Lucifer-sama.” Sandalphon can’t bring himself to stop Lucifer, not when he can see the happiness his forced compliment had brought the other. Not when this simple exchange reminds him far too much of the past that haunts him every minute of his prolonged life. 

Relief floods through Lucifer at the sound of Sandalphon’s voice, and he clutches the cup a bit closer. The curved handle resting gingerly against his chest as he steps away. The bitter aroma of the coffee he had brewed still clung to the porcelain. He can feel the heat where the archangel’s hands had been, and he dares to lay his own fingers exactly where the other’s had been. Relishing their shared warmth. For a moment, he finds himself absorbed in the shimmer of the teacup’s golden rim. Sunlight dances along the purple design etched into the porcelain. Slowly, violet mixes with gold beneath his gaze, and the dazzling reflections begin to move beneath the tips of his fingers. 

His cruelan eyes fade out of focus as the image of countless feathers forms in the cup. Each one fluttering downwards onto the saucer until they form a hefty pile of plumes in almost half a dozen different colors. They range from blue to cream to orange to gray to a pearly white. He finds himself captivated by their beauty. Not a single spec of dirt or torn edge upon any of them. His thumb moves to trace over them absentmindedly, but the moment he does they morph. Their brilliant, gleaming colors dull as crimson seeps into them. Those white feathers become torn and jagged. Ugly as they begin to drown all of the other colors. The sight startles him, and his thumb retracts on instinct. He can hear the sound of labored breaths in the air, but doesn’t have time to register them before those torn and bloody feathers give way to the sight of scarred, auburn wings that fan out over the entire cup. The color instantly makes him think of Sandalphon, and his face draws closer in an attempt to get a better view of them. He just barely catches sight of a soft, pearly feather tucked between those brown ones before a loud crash rings through the cafe, and jolts him back to reality. And he realizes his trembling hands are far too light. 

“Lucifer-sama.” He feels the heat of Sandalphon’s worried voice against his skin more than he actually hears the other call out to him. Slowly, his gaze peels away from the blurry tips of his own fingers to glance over to his side where scarlet eyes watch him intensely. His dry lips part, but not a sound comes from his throat as long lashes blink several times over until the archangel is fully in focus. It takes him a moment to realize just how close the other is to him, yet he can’t recall hearing Sandalphon get up in the first place. And it’s only after a few more belated seconds of staring that he registers the tight hold the other has on his bicep, Sandalphon’s rough fingers wrapped firmly about his skin, and keeping him upright.

“Can you hear me? Say something.” Sandalphon’s grip tightens so hard around him that he can feel the pinprick of a bruise as it begins to bloom upon his pale skin, but the palpable fear in the other’s voice and the pain that rushes through his arm is enough to ground him. 

“I -” When he hears just how hoarse his own voice sounds, he swallows to chase away the burning sensation that clings to his throat, and looks away from Sandalphon before offering a weak smile at both Gran and Lyria when he spots them standing beside the archangel. Lyria’s fingers are curled tightly about the hem of her dress, to the point where she’s leaving crinkles in the shimmering, delicate fabric, and he can see how her lower lip has been drawn inwards against her teeth. Gran’s hand is curled about the hilt of his blade, but it relaxes when the Captain meets his gaze, but concern still litters his features in the form of tiny wrinkles that shouldn’t cling to a face that looks that young and full of life. And Lucifer can’t say for certain if the tension that keeps the Captain’s muscles taught is a result of his concern for him, or from something else. 

He lowers his head, hands falling helplessly to his side as he looks at the shattered remains of the cup that now lay at his feet. “Forgive me, it wasn't my intention to break it. I will clean it up.” His voice feels sluggish as he finally digs it out of the depths of his throat, and tries to lean down to collect it with his bare fingers, but a sharp tug on his arm pulls him up before he barely has time to bend over to begin with. 

“Answer me, Lucifer-sama.” The intensity of Sandalphon’s voice is enough to stop him from moving against his hold again, but he finds all he has the strength left to do is stare helplessly into those blazing, scarlet eyes. 

“Sandalphon,” Lyria begins, detangling her fingers from her dress, but before she can reach out for the archangel, Gran gingerly takes her hand within his. A firm shake of his head is enough to quiet her, as he carefully leads her around the shattered pieces of the cup, and away from the pair to give them space, But Lucifer can barely hear the click of the Captain’s armor and the tap of Lyria’s feet as they vanish from his line of sight. 

“Answer me,” Sandalphon repeats, but Lucifer hesitates again, and it makes the archangel bites down hard on his own lip before he shifts, pushing his body gingerly against the former Supreme Primarch’s to guide him down onto the chair he had stood up from. His hand remains firmly clamped about Lucifer’s arm. “Are you all right?”

It’s the first time Lucifer actually hears that question, but judging by how much Sandalphon stressed it, it dawns on him that it’s not the first time the other had asked it. Guilt wells up in his chest, and he inhales softly in an attempt to lessen just how badly his hands are still shaking where they’ve fallen uselessly into his lap. 

“I am. Forgive me, Sandalphon. I am...simply a bit tired today.” He keeps his gaze trained on the smooth edges of his nails as his fingers curl and uncurl against his thighs. Yet, even that doesn’t seem to be enough to quell how terribly they’re shaking, nor does it rid him of the fog that grips his head. The image of those wings remains at the forefront of his mind, but the sight of the colorful feathers had almost left him by now. He feels like he’s clumsily tumbling back and forth between the trance that had gripped him a moment ago, and the sight of Sandalphon standing in front of him. He wants to reach out, and grab the other. To hold onto him firmly to keep himself from tumbling back into whatever that strange sensation had been, but his arms don’t have the strength to lift upwards to do so. 

Sandalphon eases his grip on Lucifer’s arm until those fingers are little more than bruises upon the other’s delicate skin. He can see sweat begin to form on Lucifer’s forehead, it makes his bangs stick to his skin, and he can tell the other is struggling with something. It makes him realize how many times Lucifer had reached out for him when he had been in a similar position, so he tries to tame his worry. Quietly, he shifts onto his knees in front of the other. His hand slowly, and softly trailing down Lucifer’s arm until it comes to meet the other’s hands. His calloused palms wrap easily about the former Supreme Primarch’s far more fragile fingers, and takes them into a firm hold to steady them. Finally, after a few moments of silence between them, he begins to feel Lucifer’s quaking hands calm within his grasp. 

“Please, Lucifer-sama,” Sandalphon’s voice, when it reaches Lucifer’s ears this time, is soft and desperate. “I’m begging you...not to hide anything from me.” Lucifer can feel the scarred pads of the other’s thumbs as gingerly caress his knuckles, and he can no longer bring himself to look away from the archangel. 

Lucifer allows himself the selfish act of focusing on the brush of skin against the smooth fabric of his gloves for a long, but quiet moment. The heat of Sandalphon’s hands pouring into his own, and it brings him more comfort than he could ever truly describe. And, he realizes, for some reason he can’t deny him, even if the faintest hint of fear nips at the back of his mind. Despite his own desperate need to appease the other’s worries, he simply can’t bring himself to dismiss Sandalphon’s request again. So, he takes a deep breath in an attempt to collect his thoughts. 

“I...for a moment, felt as if my mind had gone blank, and in the reflection of that mug I saw a pair of auburn wings.” His brows furrow as he tries to dig the images from his mind once more, yet, for as potent as they had been a moment ago, they feel distant and blurry now. The pile of feathers he had seen first completely lost in the depths of his limited memories. “Seeing them brought me a great sense of relief, and I became absorbed in their beauty.” He feels Sandalphon’s soft ministrations halt for a moment, but when his own fingers curl to wrap about the other’s hands in return, they begin once more. 

Sandalphon’s hands squeeze a bit more against his own as the other asks, “Did you see anything else?” 

Lucifer shakes his head quickly. “No, I am afraid I did not. At least...nothing that I can recall beyond those wings.” He can’t tell if the emotion that flashes upon Sandalphon’s features in the form of a taut frown is disappointment, frustration, sorrow, concern, or a mixture of all four. “Forgive me, I did not wish to worry you, but I see that trying to keep it to myself has hurt you. You have my word, Sandalphon, that this is the first time something of this nature has happened to me, and, should it happen again, I will tell you.” 

“I believe you,” Sandalphon sighs, allowing the tension to drain from his body. “I’m sorry, Lucifer-sama.” One hand remains cupped about the former Supreme Primarch’s while the other lifts to brush his fingers softly over the patches of blue and purple they had left upon Lucifer’s smooth skin. A pained look contorts Sandalphon’s features as he inhales sharply through his nostrils. “I’ll clean this up. Just, wait here. When I’m done, I’ll take you back to the room. You never did fall back asleep last night, did you? Perhaps...you just need a bit of rest.” 

Lucifer watches those fingers as they gently, and carefully trace over the bruise that perfectly mirrors them. A soft smile forming upon his pale lips as his dreadfully heavy eyelids slip shut. “Very well.” Every last ounce of enthusiasm and drop of energy he had harbored while brewing that cup of coffee has fled from his limbs now, and all he wishes for, in that moment, is to simply listen to the sound of Sandalphon’s soothing voice, and feel the warmth that oozes from the tips his hands where they gently stroke at his skin. For now, he thinks, it’s all right if he allows himself to relax, and place his trust in those scarred hands. 


End file.
